Flattery
by seastar97
Summary: Arya asks Nasuada for a favor, and sets the dominoes falling. Set just after Brisingr. Reviews are GREATLY appreciatated. *NEW CHAPTERS!* MurtaghxNasuada
1. Chapter 1

**Edit: **Hello, my lovely reader ;) I just want to encourage you to review and subscribe to me! I have some up and coming projects that you might want to check out! If you end up liking this story, you might want to add it to your favorites or/and put an alert on this story to tell you that I've updated! Looking at my story stats, I'm happy with the number of story and author alerts and favorites, so that's awesome. Anyway, let me know what you think! :) Looking back, I realize how DANG SHORT this is! Don't worry, they get longer LOL XD.

**A/N: **Hey, guys, so um, this is my first story :) If you like it, review, and tell me if it has any potential (at all?).

This story takes place in the book Brisingr.

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**I don't own the Inheritance Cycle. **

**The Review Revolution...**

**Even if the fic has 10002464 reviews already...**

**Even if the fic is older than time itself...**

**Even if it was abandoned a loooooooooooooooooooooong time ago...**

**Even if the author turned out to be a total psychopath...**

**Even if the OC is a Sue and the spelling would make a dictionary cry...**

**I, Seastar97, will review every fic I read. What goes around comes around, and more people will review my own fics. I have joined Review Revolution. Have You?**

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**Chapter 1**

Nasuada sat at her desk, shuffling through the endless piles of papers. Being the leader of the Varden seemed to consume her life; she just wanted relief.

As her eyes roved over a report, Jörmundur, Nasuada's father, Ajihad's most favored advisor, entered her tent in flurry of deep turquoise robes.

"Lady, King Orrin wishes to speak with you," he announced in his deep, booming voice.

Nasuada observed the blazing sun through the open back flap of her tent, thinking what a pity it would be to keep his majesty waiting in the heat. She allowed herself a slight smile.

"Is it urgent?"

"No," Jörmundur replied, "but—"

"Tell him it must wait. I am to meet with Arya very soon."

As Nasuada swept out of her tent, she nodded to Orrin and his guards. "Good day."

As she neared Arya's tent, Nasuada became aware of voices, rising and falling like the sound of waves crashing against a distant shore.

"She does not want her palm read!" She recognized Eragon's voice amid the camp's ever-present, rustling din. "You'll just say something to embarrass me, you will!"

"Embarrass you, Shadeslayer? I could never _dream _of doing such a thing." Angela winked at Arya, who was standing quietly to one side of her tent, an amused expression playing across her slanted features.

"Do you wish to have your palm read, Dröttningu?" Angela asked, now ignoring Eragon's look of outrage.

"Unfortunately not," Arya said, smiling broader. "I have an engagement with Nasuada, at present. Perhaps later?"

"Of course, Lady Arya."

As Angela departed, so stomped off Eragon, and the elf and human entered Arya's large tent.

"What is it you seek my counsel for, Arya Dröttningu?"

"It is his majesty King Orrin. He seems to have cut trade with Islanzadí and the elves."

"What is it you need form Surda?" Nasuada asked.

"Please excuse our covertness, but the elves are working on—something of a project. Copper is an important component."

_Why would Orrin sever trade with the elves? _Nasuada thought. She asked this of Arya.

"The reason eludes me," Arya admitted. "As much as it pains my mother and me, we must ask you to try to convince King Orrin to lift these barriers."

"If I had a chance, believe me, Arya, I would," Nasuada said wearily. "Orrin is stubborn as a bull when it comes to my advice."

"May I make a suggestion?" asked Arya.

"You may," Nasuada said, curious.

"Flattery. And please take into consideration that Islanzadí is willing to offer compensation for the Varden." And with that, Arya stood and started for the tent's flap.

Nasuada sat and chewed over her situation. She could help the elves—who, of course had not been helping the Varden. But what kind of compensation was their queen offering, was what she dwelled on. Finally, realizing she was in Arya's tent, she hurried back to her pavilion.

On her way, Nasuada stopped at her tent to change and refresh herself. She remembered Orrin mentioning in one of his tirades that he liked yellow. So she picked out a rich, silken dress so yellow, it put the canaries to shame.

"His majesty, King Orrin, still wishes to speak with you," one of Nasuada's guards whispered to her as she reentered her vermillion pavilion.

"Send him in," she said briskly, surprised by the king's consistency.

As Orrin strutted in and seated himself in the finest chair visible, he smiled at Nasuada's yellow frock.

"King Orrin." Nasuada addressed him evenly, yet grudgingly.

"Lady Nightstalker." He opened his mouth to speak.

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**I know, it's short, but I put my all into it! (If it really makes a difference)**

**REVIEW! PLEASE? I you think it's good, I'll put the next chapter on, if you don't, I'll keep writing it for myself (pitiful, I know).**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N:

Well, I worked my butt off and here stands chapter two! Hope you guys like it! That aside, I have an announcement: I'm thinking about a new story! I'm thinkin' a PJatO, but I don't knw yet. Whatdya think about that? Leave me a sugestion in your REVIEW! And of course, I don't own any characters (I would never make their names so complicated! Sheesh!) CP owns all but the words I type.

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**Chapter 2**

Before the king could say anything, Nasuada spoke. "What is it you require, Orrin?"

The king smiled; Nasuada's gleaming whites challenged his. "Lady Nightstalker," The handsome Surdan king began, "as you know, both my kingdom and your Varden are lacking financial aid. I was advised by my, ahem, advisor—" Nasuada almost smiled at that—"to open free trade with the dwarves. Furthermore, I was also advised to close trade with the elves, a wise decision."

Nasuada's temper rose at Orrin's idiocy. "Were you not advised by your _dwarfish _advisor to open free trade with the _dwarves?_"

Orrin flushed. "It was a good decision, nonetheless."

"And _what, _pray tell, is Surda gaining by lacerating trade with the elves?" Nasuada demanded, "Certainly not the Varden's nor my approval!"

"Nor do I desire you approval!" Orrin bellowed. "I only desire what is best for my people!"

"Oh, but _do _tell me, Orrin, how does restricting trade with the elves help your people?" Nasuada taunted, now deadly quiet. "Of course, it removes their main food supplier, and wood source, but how does it help them? You do realize this moronic, idiotic, ill-thought out plan of yours is not just affecting Surda, but also the Varden? You do realize that I, as leader of the Varden, can up and leave without warning, and leave you virtually defenseless against the empire?"

Orrin was red in the face with fury. "I was told," he said, low and ferocious, "that by restricting trade, Islanzadí would be cut off from copper, a valuable resource for them at this time. Therefore, she would be forced to assist Surda's economy."

Nasuada laughed, high and cold. "Think nothing of the Varden! Surda! Only Surda! At when _I_ make decisions, I think of the impact on both of our kingdoms! And without me-!"

Orrin cut Nasuada off by storming out of the tent.

She let out a long breath, and just as she was about to go and eat, for it was well past noon, Jörmundur entered her tent.

"My lady, the cooks would like to report the absence of nutmeg, from the kitchens."

Nasuada groaned in exasperation. "It's the trade barriers Orrin's set up with the elves, blast the imbecile, Morgathal knows how long they've been up if the cooks have run out of nutmeg already," she complained, picking the first one of the numerous gods on her mind. "I don't know how to get the elves on our side, or at least to convince the queen to lend her warriors, and Orrin, being the rock head he is, is not helping one bit! All he does is undermine my venture to come to peace with the elves and have them join with us in plot to overthrow Galbatorix! Is there nothing I can do to make him see sense? I know he wants nothing less than to tear Galbatorix' throat out himself, as do I, but his ploys never cease to backfire!"

All the while Nasuada ranted, her most trusted guard and advisor stood silently, taking in every single word like his living breath. Finally, he said:

"There are many ways to influence Orrin's point of view, but I strongly suggest this: Flattery. I you agree with him, you can most certainly worm your way into changing his plans and getting your way for the Varden."

Nasuada crossed her arms. "Flatter Orrin? How?" She asked, surprised by the additional urging to use flattery.

"Just think of what you usually do persuade other to see things your way, my lady." Jörmundur bowed, and left her tent.

That was when Nasuada came to the decision to try with all her might to flatter Orrin. It couldn't be _that _difficult, could it?

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**There you have it :) I'm sure if I butchered anything, but if I did please tell me! And review! Don't forget that either. It's a little on the short side, I think, but the next one might be a smidge easier because it's from Arya's POV! *Excited Cheering* I'll have that one ASAP, probably tomorow or the next day! KEEP READING!**

**seastar97**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey guys! Chapter 3 is here, so throw those hands up! I also accept donations. Kidding. But I have to say, I had a BLAST writing this chapter! It's the longest too! I don't know why I'm putting exclamation points on the end of everything! Anyway, in all seriousness, review if you like. :) Please?**

**EDIT: I am really sorry, my computer went haywire when I was removing an A/N, so chapter 4 is at the end of the chapter list at the moment, though it won't be once I update again... ARGH... so just look for chapter 4 lower in the list, please, until I can find time to sort everything out. Thanks! I know this is really strange.**

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**Chapter 3**

Arya sat cross-legged in Angela's tent, probing the minds of the creatures around her, waiting for the herbalist. She had come mostly to please Angela, but partially because Eragon had told her about the prophecy she had told him when he met her in Teirm. Perhaps what her palm read could actually be true.

Arya sighed as she thought of her situation with her mother; nobody else knew anything of it, not even Eragon or Nasuada, her most loyal friends and confidants. She more than wished she could do something about her predicament. She knew Orrin's small-minded decision had done nothing to help matters.

When Arya finally looked up a few minutes later, she realized the witch Angela was standing over her. She jumped at the sight of her piercing, beady brown eyes, and her wildly curly brown hair, which, at the moment was standing up every which way because of the currently string winds.

"Why so pensive, Arya Svit-kona?" Angela asked.

"I was just… brooding," Arya admitted.

"No need to stew in your own juices, elf," said Angela, "come now, sit at my table, time to get your pretty hand read."

Angela bustled about, pulling odd knickknacks from several large trunks, and finally at last a glittering purple turban that made the elf laugh melodically.

"Please don't," Arya pleaded, as Angela sat.

"I figured it was a bit much. Just trying to humor you."

Arya smiled. "Eragon informed me that while you still resided in Teirm, that you gave him five prophecies. What were they?"

"Ah, yes," said the witch doctor reminiscently, "I remember that day well. The young Shadeslayer came to me—of course he was no Shadeslayer then—and I read his knucklebones."

Wondering what this meant, Arya asked, "What were the prophecies, and did any of them come true?"

"Can a witch really remember them all? Let me see, there was something about a, a long life… and something about a romance… but you need not worry, my dear, that is not what we're here for." Angela snatched Arya's hand up and ran her fingers over her satiny smooth palm.

"Ah, yes. I suppose a long life line can be expected. Hmmm…"

Angela examined Arya's palm for the better part of five minutes before speaking again. "You have a _very _long heart line. It means your heat is broken far too easily. It's a delicate thing, the heart. Guard yours well."

_Such gibberish, _Arya thought, _if I wanted to dither, I could have gone to Eragon._

"Oh, my! Would you just look at that head line?" Angela raved, holding Arya's hand closer to her face. "It's all too fitting, I dare-say. You elves have no imagination!"

"Pardon me?" asked Arya

"Your head line is straight as a board!" Angela exclaimed. "You do know what that means?"

Arya shook her head.

"Of course not. It means your much to reasonable a thinker. It takes real effort to throw you. But we already knew that much."

Arya couldn't help but wonder if the herbalist was making this up. She had known Angela in Ellesmera; that was quite a time ago. Surely she had picked up some of her character.

"Short. Shallow. Straight. It's amazing what palms can tell," Angela whispered to herself, then said to Arya, "If I had done this the day I met you, we might've prevented _many_ problems."

Arya stood, suddenly fed up with how little good this venture had done her. "I'll be going now, Angela. Erm… thank you, for your time."

"Oho, you think I'll be letting you off so soon, elf? You're sorely mistaken."

Now matter how Arya argued, Angela still refused to release her. She thought of simply knocking the witch unconscious, but abandoned her pleas.

"Sit," Angela ordered roughly, leaving the tent to return a few minutes later with a steaming kettle. Arya glared at the herbalist, irritated, chiding herself for even agreeing to come.

"The leaves will tell." Angela smiled knowingly into her cup. "Perhaps fortune-telling works better on elves…"

Arya stared obstinately at the cup Angela had placed in front of her.

"What are you waiting for?" Angela demanded. "The sooner you drink, the sooner the tea is gone, the sooner I can read your leaves, the sooner you can leave. So drink!"

Slowly, Arya lifted the cup to her porcelain lips and abruptly downed the scorching hot liquid in a most un-ladylike manner.

"Well if that's the way you feel about it," Angela stated, grabbing the cup. Well be darned, you've drank too much! You'll have to have another cup."

Arya watched with growing fury as the herbalist brewed an additional cup of tea.

The elf princess imbibed the next cup just as quickly as the first, with Angela shouting, "Leave some liquid at the bottom of the cup, mind you!"

When Arya had grudgingly passed the cup to Angela, the witch swirled the cup three times and then, tipped the cup over onto the sauce she had just retrieved.

"Hmmm…" Angela said, "Hmm…"

"What do you see?" Arya asked.

"Many things await you, Arya Svit-kona," the witch said in an un-earthly tone. "It is for you to decide whether it is good or bad."

"What do you see? Arya repeated impatiently.

"It is… indistinct. Now off with you!"

As Arya fled the tent, she wondered if whether Angela was keeping something from her.

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**Hope you like! Remember to review! Please! I did this on a whim of inspiration, and I was a teensy bit distracted, so I made any grammatical errors, please tell me! Also, I still need suggestions for my new story!**

**-PEACE OUT :))**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Here stands chapter 4. You like, you review, you don't like, still review. Love me, hate me, PM me, tell me! :D My new motto/catch phrase. You like?**

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"Are you sure?" Farica asked warily. "Orrin can be a bit—unreasonable about your cooks… well, actually, cooks in general."

Nasuada winced. "I know. But yes, I'm sure," she said slowly, remembering the last time she had dined with Orrin.

_"What _is_ this?" Orrin asked disdainfully. "Lady Nasuada cannot eat this, this, this abomination of a crème Brule!"_

_"Its fine, Orrin," She'd said honestly._

_"I will _not _have the queen of the Varden consume such a disgusting dish! Awful, simply awful!" Orrin continued muttering to himself throughout the entire meal. _

The experience had been, quite frankly, frightening.

"Now that the decision's been made, Farica, which should I wear tomorrow?"

Memories of that night marred the rest of Nasuada's busy day. She had feast to organize for the soldiers who'd just arrived back from Feinster; she had a meeting with the council to arrange means to atone for their missing supplies; and on top of all her other duties, Arya was having problems with the Angela, the herbalist, harassing her. When dinner time rolled around, she was still arguing with Eragon about whether or not Saphira should be able to put shows on for the camp's children.

"Come on Nasuada, it'd be fun!" Eragon pressed. "What would the children love more than seeing a Murtagh dummy burning to death? If we're lucky, we might even get the real thing!"

"Eragon, you can't burn a Murtagh dummy in front of the children!" Nasuada exclaimed, alarmed by the prospect, "They'll be scared out their wits!"

"They need to know who the enemy is," Eragon countered. "This is the perfect way to show them. What else are Saphira and I to do?"

Nasuada opened her mouth to speak when a voice which she recognized as Eragon's cousin, Roran's, shouted, "Eragon!"

"I must go," Eragon said, dashing out of his tent.

"The answer is no, Eragon!" Nasuada hollered after him.

Farica was waiting anxiously for Nasuada when she arrived at her tent.

"My lady, you'll be very late…"

"I'm aware. Eragon kept me a bit longer then intended."

Farica began murmuring to herself as she hastily dressed Nasuada in a periwinkle gown and pinned her hair up.

"What kept you, Nasuada?" Orrin asked after formal greetings were exchanged and one of Nasuada's wait staff pulled out her chair at the head of the table.

"Nothing," she muttered, thoroughly embarrassed at being late to her own dinner. "How was your day?" Lady Nightstalker asked lamely.

Orrin sighed tiredly. "This is the only perk. Now, about our last meeting…"

"What of it?"

"I'd like to—" Orrin clenched his teeth—"apologize. But I still believe relinquishing trade with the elves was best."

Nasuada shifted uncomfortably in her seat, as she pasted a small, faux smile on her pretty face. No trading with the elves: Just another one of her numerous, small, dagger-sharp problems.

"What is being served tonight?" Orrin asked, now clearly preoccupied.

"I'm not sure; Farica made all the arrangements."

"I need a servant like Farica," the king said offhandedly. "Loyal, trusting, trustworthy. Know what she's doing, Farica." He began picking at his roll.

Nasuada smiled tightly and nodded. She was supposed to be wowing Orrin tonight, not staring noiselessly at him.

"Well, um…" Nasuada glanced wildly around the room for a subject to broach. "Have you spied any ladies in your court that tickle you fancy?" She asked awkwardly.

Orrin flushed, and then paled, a truly fascinating sight. "No. What say you to the men who approach you day and night, asking for your hand?"

"There's nobody special," she admitted. _Or that I've ever previously met. _"There is no reason to have a king ruling by my side, a present; it would do nothing but complicate matters for the Varden."

"What about Eragon? The only free rider ruling the Varden would certainly enforce laws."

"Yes, I suppose, but Eragon is out of the question."

"I see."

The conversation lolled then, and both King Orrin and Lady Nasuada seemed to relax a bit.

"I hope you like… fish," Nasuada said, eyeing the platter.

"Fish. Without any condiments? What is the meaning of this?" Orrin's previously laid-back manner vanished in an instant.

"It's you trade barriers with the elves," said the young woman, her temper flaring. "If we'd dined earlier in the day, as I requested, the condiments would not have already been consumed by the common citizens of the Varden."

"Why would food not be set aside for the two most important people in my city?" Orrin demanded.

"You value your status far too highly," Nasuada said icily. "First come, first serve." And she began picking at flavorless meat.

The dinner passed with no further conversation, though Orrin gnashed his teeth a few more times at the upcoming dished. _Utter failure, _Nasuada thought. Halfway through dessert, a messenger rushed in.

"Lady Nasuada!"

"Yes, Josha?"

"Eragon need to see you!" the boy panted, "immediately!"

"Excuse me, your highness," Nasuada said, sliding her chair out from under the table. She had a bone to pick with Eragon.

The night air was chilly, though it had been warm at the start of the evening. It seemed even colder when she spotted Eragon.

"What is it, Eragon?" Nasuada demanded, then realizing his bloody, disheveled condition added, "are you alright?" more gently.

"We—Saphira and I, that is, we captured Murtagh and Thorn."

The young maiden gasped. "Where is Murtagh?"

"In Orrin's dungeon; he's too weak to use magic, or even draw upon Thorn's strength."

"What happened to him?" She asked, aghast, her previous attitude with the powerful rider dissolved.

"It's a _very_ long story," Eragon admitted wearily. "What do you want us do with them?"

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**Thanks for reading! Now just click that little speech bubble in the corner (or where ever it is, I can't see it from here) and review. I'm asking nicely. Anyway, I feel like this chapter is lacking a little in personal vibe. I didn't have much time on it, so I'm desperate to find out what you think! **

**-Seastar97**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey, y'all. Well, thanks to those of you have reviewed! I kindly, earnestly, beg you to review again (and again). This is kind of a pointless filler chapter, just a small hold-over so I can get my thoughts in order, but MLK day gives me the opportunity to update again! So without further ado**

**Chapter 5**

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_Where is she? _King Orrin wondered. _Late for her own dinner… And you'd think the cooks would have enough courtesy to at least bring out the appetizers… _

It was, he supposed, to be expected of the young lady. She had too much on her plate, much like him. His reverie was interrupted by Nasuada make her appearance. She looked beautiful in the periwinkle gown she had donned.

"Lady," Orrin said, rising.

"Your majesty," Nasuada said in return as one of her wait staff pulled her chair out from beneath the head of table.

"What kept you, Nasuada?" asked Orrin.

"Nothing," she mumbled. He detected her cheeks reddening the slightest. "How was your day?"

The king frowned, and then sighed. "This is the only perk. About our last meeting…"

"What of it?"

It pained him to say. "I'd like to apologize." He choked the word out as best he could. "But I still believe relinquishing trade with the elves was best," he added hastily. Severing trade with the elves did not exactly sit well with Orrin; his favorite mint jelly came from Ellesmera.

_She has to realize we have equal power, _he reminded himself. _Otherwise, how are we ever going to collaborate? _

"What is going to be served tonight?" the king asked offhandedly.

"I'm not sure; Farica made all the arrangements."

"I need a servant like Farica," Orrin observed. He stopped listening to himself then. _She has everything! And what do I have? A disloyal kingdom to look after. _

"… Any ladies in your court that tickle your fancy?"

Orrin flushed. Had Nasuada lost interest in him? So soon? He had no doubt that she fancied him at the start of this dinner; now he was not so sure. He paled. "No," he said slowly, and then sifted the focus to her. "What about the men who approach you, day and night, asking for your hand?"

"There's nobody special," she said quickly. "There is no reason to have a king ruling by my side; it would only complicate matters for the Varden."

"What about Eragon?" Orrin quipped. "The only free rider ruling the Varden would certainly enforce laws."

"Yes, I suppose," said Nasuada, looking down, "but Eragon is out of the question."

The conversation took a lapse, and Orrin relaxed. Until the first course arrived.

"I hope you like… fish," Lady Nasuada said.

"Fish," Orrin repeated. "Fish without any condiments? What is the meaning of this?"

"It's your trade barriers with the elves," Nasuada said, scowling. "If we'd dined earlier in the day, as I requested, the condiments would not have already been consumed by the common citizens of the Varden."

"Why would food not be set aside for the two most important people in my city?" Orrin demanded.

"You value your status far too highly," Nasuada's cold eyes bored into his. "First come, first serve." And she set at the excuse for a meal.

The second course was no better; a bland assortment of mincemeat pies. The third was a soup with a medley of nut and berries, unique and rich; the fourth was fresh-caught shrimp on a bed of rice; the fifth and final course was desert, an array of pastries and other sweets. Drinks were brought regularly, but Nasuada took not a sip, as if on a mead boycott.

Orrin cast his eyes down for most of the meal.

"Lady Nasuada!" Orrin jolted out of the slouch he'd slid into.

"Yes, Josha?" Nasuada answered, obviously eager to be called for.

"Eragon needs to see you, immediately!"

"Excuse me, your highness," said Nasuada, and swept out of the room.

Moments later, Jörmundur stalked into the room.

"You missed her," Orrin said bitterly, putting his hand in his pocket and feeling the small box of velvet stored there. "She left just a moment ago, a messenger boy said Eragon called for her."

"Good," Jörmundur said, "but I came here to tell you, your majesty, that Thorn and Murtagh have been captured."

Orrin was shocked. "May I see them?"

"Not right now. Both are in a very weak state; no one is allowed to behold them."

Orrin was about to ask why Nasuada was about to ask why Nasuada left in such a hurry, but bit his tongue, and took a different tact. "I –- I wish Nasuada to marry me, but I'm not sure what her reaction might be."

"I can't say I can judge the young woman myself," Jörmundur admitted. "If you want my honest opinion, her affections lie elsewhere. If anywhere at all," the man mumbled more to himself than to Orrin.

"How do you suppose I can win her affection? Tell me anything, what kind of… flowers she likes, what her favorite color is…?"

"Jörmundur scratched his chin thought fully. "Her favorite color, presumably, is green. She enjoys… the sun setting at noon…" The man continued spitting useless facts.

_How am I supposed to convince the sun to set at noon? _Orrin wondered. "Thank you for your help, Jörmundur," he said, and strode out of the room.

_How is a man to win the love of such an enigmatic woman?_

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**Thanks for reading! My typing program went a tiny bit whack, so tell me if there's any mistakes, or simply gramatical errors on my part. Now, just click that little review button. Come on, now, it won't kill you. Anyway, happy reading! **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Yay! Chapter 6 is here! This one was really, really, really fun to write! If you like it, review! If you don't, review! I'm asking nicely! Please? Okay, so I think the next chapter MIGHT be from *Drumroll* Murtagh's POV! Maybe, maybe not. Happy MLK Jr. day!**

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"Don't do anything with them! I mean, tell Trianna and Angela to heal him. And his dragon. How in the name of all things good did you capture him?"

"Well, they didn't exactly put up a fight," Eragon said sheepishly. "They've surrendered, escaped from Galbatorix's control."

Nasuada was dumbstruck. She faltered for words. "They're – they're on our side, now? No limitations? And why are you all muddy?"

Eragon shrugged. "We had quite a roll downhill. Murtagh wasn't in any condition to speak, my lady."

Arya sprinted up quietly, then. Or rather, Nasuada _thought _she had just sprinted up. For all her attention, she could've been standing there the entire time.

"Ah, Arya," the leader of the Varden said. "Please, contact Angela and Trianna, immediately.

Arya nodded. She looked pensive for a moment, and then said, "Trianna is otherwise engaged, as is Angela."

"No matter. Tell them both to meet us in at Orrin's dungeons, and make haste."

"Trianna wants to know if you wish another of Du Vrangr Gata to accompany her," Arya relayed.

Nasuada thought for a moment. "Yes." Just in case. "Where is Saphira, Eragon?"

"Washing in the river."

"Tell her to join us, will you?"

Nasuada began striding toward the dungeons. She had been in them before: the only words to describe the place were dark, dank, and lonely. She swung the heavy metal door open.

Eragon pointed one of the numerous cells, this particular one located in the corner. "In there. He was asking to see you – to negotiate, I assume."

"Murtagh," Nasuada whispered, "Murtagh, wake up." She took the key Aria offered her and pushed the door open.

Angela and Trianna burst into the dungeon. "What is it?" Trianna demanded, her spell caster trailing behind her, at the same time Angela shouted, "I was in the middle of teaching Elva which type of vinegar makes the cabbage taste best!"

Nasuada gestured them over. "Murtagh surrendered, but he's not conscious. Can you wake him up?"

Both witches gasped, and the member of Du Vrangr Gata shrank into the wall. Trianna stayed back, while Angela rushed forward.

"He is awake," said Arya, "just barely. He can speak, nonetheless."

"Murtagh. Murtagh, answer me!" Nasuada commanded.

Murtagh groaned in response.

"Can you heal him, Eragon?"

Eragon gave Nasuada a sideways look. "I'm not sure we want to, at least until we know where his loyalties lie. But yes, I could."

"Please, do. I want to speak with him, and he needs to be interrogated. You're right, of course. We do not wish to heal him, yet to have his escape from our grasp again."

Eragon nodded, assessing the damage, and mumbled a few words in the Ancient Language. "Most of his energy is gone; I think he and Thorn ran out of food, I'd say about halfway from Urû'baen. Is that so?" the question was directed at Murtagh.

"Aye," said Morzan's son. "Galbatorix couldn't –" Murtagh coughed.

"Save your strength, rider," Lady Nasuada directed. "Angela, will you make few poultices and such so that Murtagh can heal at a normal pace? Trianna, I'd like you to inform the members of Du Vrangr Gata not to contact Murtagh with their minds, accidentally or not. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Lady."

"Then you are dismissed." As the spell casters vacated the dungeon, Nasuada turned her attention back to Murtagh. "Tell me, Murtagh," she said in voice that would send shivers down anyone's spine. "Why have you come? Are you still loyal to Galbatorix? Or have you had a sincere change of heart and are now helping our cause, defeating your master?"

"I never wanted to help Galbatorix." Murtagh began wearily with the regular argument.

"Are you, or are you not loyal to Galbatorix?" Nasuada's intensity even made Arya shiver.

"I'm not," he coughed out in anger.

"Swear by it," Nasuada growled. "Now."

Murtagh swore by it in the ancient language quietly. Eragon, who had grown silent until now said, "Remember, he may just _think_ he is out of Galbatorix's control. We cannot confirm that he actually is."

Murtagh snorted. "I doubt he even noticed we're missing yet. The whole of Alagaësia would've heard his horror. He wasn't even planning on speaking to me again until about six months from now, when all his eldunarya have reached full power."

"I say we kill him, just like he killed Hrothgar," Eragon said frostily, "just like he killed innocent villagers that stood in Galbatorix's way."

"We can't kill him, Eragon," Nasuada said firmly, "he is incremental to our fight against Galbatorix."

"I owe him my life, as do you," Arya added, "if it was not for him, neither of us would be standing here, nor would the Varden be the great it is."

Nasuada tried to imagine a gap between herself and Eragon where the beautiful, determined, trustworthy elf, Arya, stood. She would not be here if Murtagh had not rescued her and Eragon from Gil'ead. And Eragon be assuming his rigid stance if Murtagh had not saved him from the Ra'zac when Brom died. Indeed the Varden would not be what it was today if it were not for Eragon and Arya, and in turn Murtagh. She remembered how Murtagh had saved her hide by blocking a deadly blow to her head with his shield at the battle of Farthen Dûr. Ajihad would've never forgiven himself if she hadn't returned from that battle.

"We _all _owe Murtagh our lives. We could not afford him dead then, and we cannot afford him dead now."

"He deserves proper punishment for his deeds," Eragon argued.

"Hasn't he had punishment enough?" Nasuada asked incredulously. "You've killed villagers, but have you ever been subject to Galbatorix's madness?"

"We seem to have a quandary," said Arya sagely. "Murtagh _has _done evil, but his good was immense. Shall he be punished, or shall he not?"

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**Here lies chapter 6. I had a lot of fun with it. Anyway, it only took me, like, 45 minutes to write this one (which translates into 'very fast' in my fic-writing time) so alert me to any grammatical errors (I would really have thousands, if it weren't for my typing program) REVIEW! Tell me what you think, I am dying for your opinions! What do you think I could improve? Which direction do you think I should be going with this? I'm running out of ideas fast. **

**Thanks for reading!**

**-Seastar97**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hey guys. I'm good mood, thanks for asking. I feel kinda bad because I've pretty much devoted this entire week to homework and stuff. I also feel like these chapters should be a LOT longer. It took me forever to write this one, and they _are _getting progressively longer, but I still feel like I should writing more :(. So... I got a very good question in an email: What does "A/N" stand for? My answer to that is: You can pretty much call it whatever you want, Author's Note (which is actually correct), Additional Notice, A Notice, etc. The point is, you can call it whatever you like, as long as you READ IT! Please, please, please, please, please! AND HOPEFULLY MY CAPITAL LETTERS AND THE LENGTH OF THIS NOTICE WILL CATCH YOUR ATTENTION! Thanks for reading!**

**Chapter 7**

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"He shall not!" Nasuada exclaimed, at the same time Eragon exclaimed, "He shall!"

"Why should he be killed or even punished?" Nasuada demanded a note of outraged incredulity coloring her tone. "He saved your life? What would you say if you were in his situation? You've must have recognized your crimes, Eragon. I remember you recounting the detail of your adventure back from Helgrind with Arya. You killed an innocent soldier begging your pardon and mercy! What kind of a man would that make Murtagh if he'd committed such treachery?"

"How can you hold that against me? He was under Galbatorix' control! He would have told the king of our whereabouts, and surely our necks would be slit or worse!"

"Murtagh was under Galbatorix' control! Tell me, did that soldier deserve to die?"

"It was necessary," Eragon growled softly.

"Murtagh is on our side now," Nasuada said just as quietly, and ten times as deadly. "Would you kill an ally, your half-brother, just as you would kill a meaningless enemy? And what of his dragon? Thorn is the last free male dragon in existence. I speak for the whole of Alagaësia when I say; we cannot afford to have him driven mad." The young leader's tone took a mocking edge.

"Maybe we can't _kill _him, but I insist he be punished for his crimes!" Eragon said obstinately.

"What crime has he committed that you haven't?" Nasuada exclaimed on the verge of tears. "Why should you not be punished just the same, Eragon?"

"How is it crime if was committed in due cause?" Eragon roared.

"How is it any different?" insisted Nasuada. "Is a man not jailed for manslaughter, just the same as he is for murder?"

"It's not the same!"

"Yes it is!"

"No, it is not!"

"It is the same, and if Murtagh is to be penalized, you will face the same fate!" Nasuada's echoed in dungeon with unyielding finality.

"Fine! Let him reap havoc again when he betrays us to Galbatorix!"

"I will _not _let you hurt him." The words escaped though Nasuada's clenched teeth as a single tear rolled down her cheek.

"We need to play the role of authority over him, Nasuada. How can we do so when we let him get away with unlawful misdemeanor? We won't kill him, just…" the rider sighed. "Just make sure he won't make the same mistakes again." Eragon's tone bespoke gentleness and compassion for Murtagh. His attitude had turned around in an instant. Nasuada saw him tense up for a moment, then scowl. When she met his eyes with a question gaze, he erased the emotion.

Arya spoke. "I disagree, Eragon," she met Eragon's glare with an unwavering, piercing gaze. "Murtagh is not to be punished." And that settled the matter. Eragon strode out of dungeon looking outraged.

"Are you holding something over him, Arya?" Nasuada asked, wiping her eyes. The elf just smiled. "Why did Eragon give up his position so easily? He seemed rooted against Murtagh, but then he just… gave up."

"It was you," Murtagh said in his hoarse voice.

Nasuada raised an eyebrow. "My stance wasn't moving him before." Murtagh said nothing.

"Arya, please heal Murtagh enough so that he can stand, and tell Trianna nothing of this."

Arya did so, and Nasuada said, "I will show you to your quarters." She thought frantically about where his "quarters" would be. She pulled him up and he staggered against her. "You can walk?" Murtagh nodded weakly.

When they reached the outer door of the dungeon, the bitter night air assaulted the three. Murtagh moaned. Arya and Nasuada shivered. It was dark, and most of the Varden was refined to their tent because of the weather conditions.

"There's a fire in my tent," Nasuada said through chattering teeth. "I'll take Murtagh there until other arrangements can be made." Arya nodded and turned in the direction of her tent.

Murtagh clung desperately to Nasuada the whole way to her tent, like she was a dream he was afraid was vaporize if he unclenched his fist. The young maiden felt awkward having a grown man stick to her like static cling. Finally, they reached her tent.

"You'll be staying her until I make other plans, Murtagh." He looked incredibly weary, like he was about to collapse. Nasuada glanced around the tent for a place for him to sleep. The floor was the only available space. _But I can't let him sleep on the floor, _She thought; _it would be selfish and inhospitable. _So she led him to her canopy bed. She would sleep on the floor in front of the fire. Just for tonight.

Murtagh fell asleep within a few minutes, and Lady Nightstalker drew a chair up to her fire and sat, warming her hands, assessing her situation while absently observing the play of light on her dark knuckles. I was discombobulating to have Murtagh, a friend, then an enemy, and now a friend again, sleeping in her own bed.

_He's sworn he is no longer loyal to Galbatorix, but that does not mean he will not turn against the Varden of his own accord._ She hated to be suspicious of Murtagh; it hurt her pride to admit, but at one point she had actually fancied the traitor. _Maybe not a traitor. Just lost, confused, and unfairly manipulated. _A mixture of unruly emotions began churning in Lady Nasuada's gut. Unsettled, she dragged her chair back to her desk and began working on her reports. It was still early in the evening; the time of year was deceiving, and after the day's events, all she wanted was to go to sleep. Despite this, she dragged through her reports, one by one for about two hours.

"Where are you going to sleep?"

"Murtagh!" Nasuada screeched. "You half startled me out of my wits. Well, I figured that, due to your condition, you should have the bed," she reddened at his concern. "I'll make do on the floor."

"No," Murtagh insisted, surveying the room for the first time, "I've been sleepin' on the ground for as long as I care to recall. And I don't think sleeping on this rug would be much of punishment." He smiled wanly. He was right; the rug was one of the finest items Nasuada had brought with her from the Varden.

"I'll sleep on the floor. Or rather, you'll sleep on the bed, if the wording makes any difference. That settles the matter. You must be famished. I'll have whatever you want sent right away."

As Murtagh relayed his list of wants to a servant Nasuada had sent for, she took his moment of distraction to study his appearance. He seemed aged beyond his years, and his features had lost the boyish roundness they had retained last she saw him. She was surprised his perfect, silky raven hair, which laid flat on his head, although she was certain it hadn't been combed in months, didn't have any grey streaks. And his eyes were his dominant trait, inherited from his father, Morzan. They were bright blue, and cold as ice. But she could still see kindness and carefully contained misery, reverence in them. Something she was sure Morzan's never showed.

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**If you like, review! Please! I you don't like, review! Please! And I'm begging, I'm on my hands and knees, read these notes, too! I try to make them in bold to catch your attention. And I feel kind of retarded, demanding reviews like this, too, but I need ideas, inspiration! And on that happy, non-pitiful note, I think the next chapter is going to Murtagh's POV! Yay!**

**Ta ta/Chao/Peace out, dudes.**

**-Seastar**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Well, holy crap! When I was updating , I clicked on the wrong document! That was something else I was working on, so I'll delete that. The other chapter MIGHT fit into this story, but it's not it. So, yeah. This is chapter 8. It took me longer than I intended it to, but oh well. It shorter than I wanted, too, but I realized it would be too long if I went on, and I wanted to get it out as quick as possible. READ AND REVIEW, PLEASE! Tell your friends!**

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The tear that slid down Nasuada's cheek infuriated Murtagh. His muscles ached with excruciating pain.

_How can you do this to her? _He contacted Eragon with his mind. His half-brother did not even recoil.

_This isn't about her._

_Do you really want to break her like this? I swear by it, Eragon, I am not in league with Galbatorix any longer. _He swore in the Ancient Language. _I recognize my faults, _Murtagh continued in the elves tongue, _I would let you do with me what you will, if it were not for Nasuada and Thorn. _

"We need to play the role of authority over him, Nasuada. How can we do so when we let him get away with unlawful misdemeanor? We won't kill him, just…" the rider sighed. "Just make sure he won't make the same mistakes again."

_Thank you. _

Arya spoke, but Murtagh could not make out her fleeting, bell-like voice.

"Are you holding something over him, Arya?" Nasuada's voice was clear and warm to the red rider's ears. "Why did Eragon give up his position so easily? He seemed rooted against Murtagh, but then he just… gave up."

"It was you," Murtagh said compulsively. He was having trouble blocking Thorn form his thoughts now, but he felt it was still necessary, considering the pain he was in, physically and emotionally. His vision flickered.

The next thing Murtagh knew, he was being dragged onto his knees by Nasuada, and his head was somewhat cleared. He staggered against Lady Nightstalker. "Can you walk?" she asked. He nodded, his weariness, he realized, still lingered.

_Thorn? _

_Murtagh?_

_Are you alright? _

_I am now. Eragon has just seen to it that I am to be made comfortable. He says we shall be reunited soon. _

_Good. _He severed the connection with his dragon, not willing to expend the miniscule amount of energy it took for the both of them to converse.

As the elf Arya swung the door open, the frigid air stung his face. He remembered saving her life only a year ago. Or was it longer? What had gone wrong since then?

_The twins. _The Twins had caused all this misery, confusion for Murtagh and now Thorn.

_We can blame whomever we like for all the wrong that has occurred, but where would we be without all this strife? You wouldn't have me, and I wouldn't have you. _The thought unwanted thought reverberated in Murtagh's head. Thorn was right, obviously.

_Of course I'm right, Little Misery. _

The red rider paid little attention to the commentary Nasuada provided on the chilly walk to her tent; he was just too tired. But he loved to hear the sound of her voice, sweet and clear, like a gurgling stream, or the peaceful hum of a mockingbird. And best of all, it was familiar. His last memory of the Varden, before he was spirited away by the wretched Twins. He remembered the last time he heard her beautiful voice like yesterday, mostly because it was often the final strand of his sanity. He'd only been happy and content a few times in his life: When he was sparring with Eragon, the only opponent that would ever match his strength and skill besides an elf; his time in Farthen Dûr with the Varden, short as it may have been. Even during his imprisonment his spirits had not dampened; the rush of being on the battlefield and fighting for a good cause; and being with Nasuada, who seemed to understand all of his problems, and everyone else's, for that matter.

Murtagh's reverie had caused him to pay little attention to his surroundings until Nasuada sat him on a bed. Dazedly, he fell onto it and closed his eyes, wishing nothing more than to sleep forever.

When Murtagh awoke, his mind was sharp and clear. _Too _clear. He could feel every ache, every pain, every cut and every scrape in high definition. He realized again that he was in a bed. Nasuada's bed, he supposed.

"Where are you going to sleep?" He asked, finding his voice.

Nasuada, who was sitting in front of her fire, leaning over something that was obscured by him because her back was turned, let out a startled squeak.

Murtagh!" Nasuada screeched. "You half startled me out of my wits. Well, I figured that, due to your condition, you should have the bed. I'll make do on the floor."

"No," Murtagh insisted, looking around the lavish tent for the first time. Well, lavish compared to the conditions he was now accustomed to. He felt embarrassed to be reduced to such a state. He supposed the red fabric was to make the structure stand out. The bed he was laying in was the only one in the tent. There was desk, from which the chair was absent nestled in the corner. The rug looked like it was of elfish make. "I've been sleepin' on the ground for as long as I care to recall. And I don't think sleeping on this rug would be much of punishment." He smiled, his chapped lips cracking.

"I'll sleep on the floor. Or rather, you'll sleep on the bed, if the wording makes any difference. That settles the matter. You must be famished. I'll have whatever you want sent right away."

Ten minutes later, a servant appeared.

"What do you have?" Murtagh croaked. Two minutes later, he regretted this inquiry, for the list had gone on and on. Finally he asked, "Will it be any trouble if I just have one of everything you've got?" The servant shook his head.

"No trouble at all, sir." He seemed almost leery of Murtagh, and he spoke rapidly.

When the servant departed, Murtagh went back in the tent.

_Why haven't you contacted me, Thorn? _He thought to his dragon.

_Why should I be the one to break this cursed silence? _The red dragon's thought had a sour air. _I have been sitting here, worried and helpless, being doted upon, but still miserable, because you cannot extend the courtesy of letting the barriers around your mind down, or even notifying me of your whereabouts and wellbeing. If you will not let me into you mind, Little Misery, then I shall not let you into mine. _Thorn broke the connection between them.

_That went well, _The rider observed to himself.

"Is your dragon alright?" Nasuada asked.

Murtagh sighed. "I suppose."

"Are _you _alright?" Her tone was laced with genuine concern, something Murtagh had heard expressed toward him a limited amount to times.

"I suppose," was his aloof answer again.

"You don't _look _alright."

Despite himself, Murtagh let a twinge of annoyance color his voice. "If you must know, I am not alright. Would you be "alright" if you were subject to Galbatorix' manic experiments for months and months?"

Looked down. "I… I can't imagine. What did he do to you, might I ask?"

**Murtagh took a deep breath and braced himself.**

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**Thanks for reading! :)) I have a dillemma (if that's how you spell it). I can't decide whether to use "alright" or "all right". Apparent both are correct. Leave me your opinion in your REVIEW! (Please) Again, I appologize for the shortness. **

**-Seastar97**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hello, everybody. Well here's chapter 9, I guess. Anyway, I'm proud of myself! I made up a nickname that Thorn uses for Murtagh! Read and find (and REVIEW). Also, there's one other thing I'd like to say: I will _never, ever _do any Thorn/Saphira stuff. I find that quite sickening. So, yeah. I'm sorry about Eragon and Nasuada clashing so much :(. They just can't seem to see eye-to-lately, can they? And Murtagh and Eragon? That blue rider has some baggage. But no matter. **

**Chapter 9**

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_This must be how Arya feels recounting her trauma in Gil'ead, _Nasuada thought. Still, she pressed Murtagh on.

"I… I can't imagine. What did he do to you, might I ask?" she faltered nervously at the words.

Murtagh drew in a slow breath. "A lot," he hedged.

"A lot…" she repeated.

"A lot of pain and suffering."

"How did it feel to be manipulated by Galbatorix?" Nasuada asked after a long pause.

"Bad… terrible." Murtagh's use of few words was trying her patience

"What was expected of you each day?"

Murtagh seemed to be in a trance-like reverie when he answered. "We were barely allowed rest; there's no real marker of each day… But when the dawn came, each morning, we were allowed to dine with the king. We ate like the elves – perhaps better, and we weren't permitted – I wasn't – any meat. I don't know why. When I asked, he just said that it was "a tradition of the Riders of Old."" The red rider's speech was still slurred with sleep and his words came in sluggish bursts, as if her were just recalling certain details. For Nasuada, it was like squeezing the pus out of a wound, slow and painful.

"And after that?"

"After that, he would prod us outside with his sword and curse at us until we –"

"I don't care about that!" Nasuada snapped impatiently with inadvertent cruelty. "Just give me the gist, alright?"

Murtagh went on as if he had not heard her. Perhaps he hadn't. "—and then he would say something like 'this is how the Riders of Old did it,' and really harshly, too. Mostly we would practice flying with the constant stream of new wards and spell he cast upon us."

"Tell me about those, will you?"

"I dunno…" Murtagh yawned. "I can't remember right now."

The servant reappeared, pulling a cart with great strain from all the meat products atop it. "Meat," Lady Nightstalker heard Murtagh mumble blearily. He pounced upon the dishes.

From what she had inferred from Murtagh's informative if short speech, she could guess at what Galbatorix had been trying to do by capturing Murtagh for his own: What he hadn't been able to do. Galbatorix hadn't had his own dragon for long enough to reap all the evil he planned.

_But if he hadn't lost his dragon in the first place, he wouldn't have gone mad, he would've lived a normal life – as normal as any rider – and he would probably be under a grave right now, and Alagäesia wouldn't be in this mess, _Nasuada thought bitterly.

Galbatorix was, undeniably, mad. What could his reasoning be? The Varden need to know more about his motives to better understand what it would take to defeat him. And Murtagh was just the tool that they need to accomplish this task.

Nasuada had been immersed in her own thoughts for so long that she hadn't noticed Murtagh had finished his frenzied meal and had dropped back off to sleep. She supposed she ought to do the same. It was late now and the upcoming morn was certain to bring even more strident tasks than the one before it.

Nasuada had not even the slightest inkling of how long she slept. She kept cycling in and out of her waking dreams, unable to rest in peace because of her predicament and because of Murtagh's close proximity.

She eagerly roused herself at dawn and dressed. Murtagh was still asleep.

So much had happened since the previous night, when she had run out on Orrin. She knew that there was amends to be made there, but deserting Murtagh seemed a questionable thing at the moment. She longed to leave her tent, but instead she sent for her vassal, Eragon.

"What is it you require, my lady?" the Shadeslayer asked when the guards allowed him in the tent. He glared at the innocent-looking, sleeping Murtagh.

"I need to… converse with you, Eragon. About Murtagh."

"What is there to be said about him?" Eragon growled.

"I'd just like you to know, he will _not _be punished for his misdeeds. He will live normally and like one of the Varden."

Eragon snorted. "He'll just turn against us, once we rub him the wrong way."

"Why do you think that? Did Murtagh ever voluntarily join Galbatorix?"

"I didn't." Evidently, Murtagh had awoken.

"No," Eragon admitted grudgingly.

"I'll tell you what I told you on the Burning Plains, brother; Galbatorix is not as bad as he seems." Murtagh's voice had grown worse over the night, and he had disheveled appearance.

"Of course he is!" Eragon snapped. "I'm ashamed to share a mother with a traitor!"

That remark stung Nasuada as if the blue rider had been insulting her personally. "Murtagh is _not _a traitor! What would you have done, had you been in his shoes, _Eragon?" _Lady Nightstalker sneered.

Eragon floundered for a moment before opening his mouth. "I would've sacrificed myself, for the good of the people of the Varden and Empire," he said with finality.

"Maybe so," Nasuada said quietly, "but what about Saphira? What would have become of her, hypothetically?"

"She would have agreed and sacrificed herself a well," said the Shadeslayer smugly.

Eragon's tunnel vision was highly infuriating to Nasuada. "No every person has the same honor as you, Eragon. Murtagh did just what any normal person would have done."

"What's his reasoning, then?"

Murtagh, whose eyes had been flicking from Eragon to Nasuada and back now rested his eyes on his half-brother. "Galbatorix," he rasped slowly, "is very charismatic when he wishes to be." Eragon rolled his eyes as if to "get to the point"

"He made me believe, if only for a time, that he was trying to help the empire, by reuniting the dragon riders."

"He does not want to reunite the riders!" Eragon burst out. "He wants Saphira so he can spawn killers, like Morzan and his cursed dragon, whatever his name might have been! He shows no interest in me, her bonded partner!"

This information confused Nasuada. Just when she had begun to realize why Galbatorix did the horrible things he did, she was told that he wanted to reunite the riders, something that Murtagh implied he had already informed Eragon of earlier!

"Why did you keep this knowledge from me, Argetlam?" she whispered in his ear.

"What knowledge?"

"The knowledge that King Galbatorix wishes to reunite the riders."

"I didn't think it important, my lady."

Nasuada rubbed her temples as Murtagh continued. This was going to be a long day.

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**Ladies and gentlemen: Chapter 9. Hope you like. Now just click that little button that says review and, you'll be on your way to greatness! Not really, but I think the next chapter might be Arya or Orrin or Eragon or someone. Maybe.**

**-Seastar**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Yay! I'm very happy! I finished this chapter in two hours! :D I really like it actually. Anyway, I have a few things I'd like to say: 1) Thank you to for the AWESOME reviews! I got a couple of amazing ideas out of them. 2) I named my other chapters. I I will say, I totally fail a naming things, so, yeah. 3) This chapter may cause a little confusion. PM me any questions about it.**

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Murtagh was tired. He still couldn't believe the good fortune that had befallen him; perhaps his bad luck splurge had finally come to an end. He had told everything to Nasuada and Eragon, but mostly Nasuada. Galbatorix was a conundrum; he wanted Alagäesia to be peaceful and warless, yet he was all too willing to kill anyone who stood in his way, or worse. Nevertheless, he was a logical, if mad, king. He should've known Galbatorix would recapture him. His efforts hadn't been strong in the beginning, but they had become more urgent as time passed. He always wondered if the evil king knew that Thorn would hatch for him; he was the son of a rider, after all, and a very powerful one, at that. It was the same with Eragon who, he had just discovered, was Brom's son.

While he was growing up in Urû'baen, he always wondered if Galbatorix had a real reason for keeping him, when he just as easily could have killed him and been done with it.

He thought about what Nasuada had said: "I do wonder: what someone, who never knew how sinister Galbatorix really is, of course, would think of him." He thought he knew the answer to that. Nobody had ever told him Galbatorix was evil and remorseless, he'd decided that on his own. He was charismatic, more than anyone who had ever met him could imagine. But by the glint in his eye, you could tell he had neither mercy in him, nor any intention to please anyone but himself. Yes, he was confused. And tired.

He had been sleeping for far too long, and restlessness had overcome him, but he was still completely and utter exhausted! The tent was dark and quiet; he gained if enough strength to use magic and ensure that. Nasuada had probably left hours ago, but he couldn't tell and he had no desire to find out or do anything but sleep, which he could not. He thought about contacting Thorn, but then realized how peaceful it was, and was reluctant to do so.

_Little Misery, _Thorn's voice boomed in his head after they had exchanged greetings. _Have you recovered?_

_I wish I had. I need to draw upon your strength, Thorn. That is, if you're well enough._

_Of course. _Murtagh sighed with relief. _Take as much as you need._

Long needed energy coursed through Murtagh as his dragon's vitality flowed into his aching limbs. He became conscious of how weak he really was, as his breathing became less labored, and his ears ceased ringing.

_Are you still alright, Thorn? _Asked Murtagh, thinking of the toll dragon must be taking

_Yes. You're recuperation is more important than my comfort._

The red rider felt guilty and selfish for not thinking more of his companion. But his focus shifted after about five minutes.

_I suppose I can't go wandering about the Varden to be seen by anyone, but by Moragthal, it's boring in here. _He was aware that he was in a bad place with his half-brother, but he decided to use his mind to speak to him anyway.

_Eragon?_

_Barzul! Murtagh? What ever do you want?_

_To leave this blasted tent. What should I do? I would've rather spoken to Nasuada, but I don't know where she is. _

_Just… meet me outside. I'll make sure you're not seen. And don't ever contact me again unless it's a dire emergency! _Murtagh smirked.

As he waited outside the tent, he glanced around, making sure there was no one to see him.

He spied Saphira flying low over the horizon, and she landed nearby within a few minutes.

Eragon was muttering to himself as he dismounted. "… Nasuada, but _no, _she insisted on –" Saphira snarled and Eragon ceased his mumbling.

"I'll take you Nasuada," the blue rider said curtly, without preamble, "but that's all. Personally, I don't really see the difference it makes if any of the Varden sees you with his own eyes; word of your of your presence will spread once Du Vrangr Gata realizes who the new magician is."

With that, Eragon set off at a brisk pace, not bothering to even meet Murtagh's eyes. "Who're _Du Vrangr Gata_?" asked Murtagh.

"If I tell you, you have to swear in the Ancient Language not to tell."

Murtagh muttered a handful of words, irritated.

"Du Vrangr Gata is the network of magicians I lead. They're like the Varden's Black Hand_. _I'm sure you're familiar with them."

"No," said Murtagh, "not Galbatorix' Black Hand, anyway. I know Selena that was the title Selena adopted."

Eragon looked surprised. "Was she really as ruthless as she was made out to be?" he asked quietly.

The elder brother shrugged. "I don't remember her very well."

Eragon seemed lost in thought the whole way to the mysterious maroon pavilion. He strode straight past the guards, despite their protestations, leaving Saphira confused, light sparkling off her scales. The sun loomed high overhead in noontime position.

Nasuada was deep in conversation with a handsome man, almost as pale as Murtagh, whose skin refused to tan even under Hadarac-like conditions. The man's skin, however, had relented, just slightly, giving him the same honey coloring as the elves.

The Varden's leader started when she spotter the riders lurking in the corner.

"Your majesty," she cut into the man's sentence. "It seems we have some guests."

His longish dark hair flying behind him, the mysterious male whipped around to face the corner where Nasuada's eyes lingered. "Shadeslayer. And friend." The man squinted at Murtagh for moment, gasped, then yelled, "Guards!"

Nasuada rolled her and scowled, as if she had expected nothing less of this fellow. "Call off your guards, Orrin."

Orrin held a hand up when his sentry approached.

"Murtagh, this is King Orrin. I'm sure you've heard about him. King Orrin, this is Murtagh, son of Morzan."

Orrin narrowed his eyes and cocked an eyebrow at Nasuada. Murtagh got the impression he did not like her. "This is like the Urgals all over again," he said.

"If this is anything like the Urgals, you should be glad," the dark skinned maiden snapped. "And Murtagh shall be regarded much higher that Urgals, due to his magic use and competence. You are dismissed."

Orrin fumed at this. "You can't dismiss me so easily! I have as much power as you do, if not more!"

"Please," Nasuada said. Still scowling, Orrin relented and departed. Eragon followed suit, not having any reason to stay.

"Sorry, my lady," Murtagh said, suppressing a smile. So that was the renowned King Orrin.

"It's alright, I suppose. That was a conversation that needed ending. I was just about to send for you. Your well?"

Murtagh nodded.

"Good. I must tell you something."

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**Gotta run! I think I'm trouble. Read and Review!**

**-Seastar**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hey guys. I don't really have much to say today, except that I worked really hard and I actually checked this one for typos and stuff! (I haven't done that in a while). And it's longer! So... read! XD**

**CHAPTER 11!**

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Murtagh froze. _Tell_ him something? Tell him _what_, exactly?

"Yes, my lady?" he said apprehensively.

"I'm going to Feinster. Things aren't going… as planned there, since Lady Lorana was taken."

"Lady who?"

"Lady Lorena," Nasuada repeated, waving a hand. "Governor of Feinster. Was pledged to Galbatorix. We have to keep her under a watchful eye here." The young leader waved a hand. "Murtagh, I have a question."

Murtagh swallowed. "Yes, my lady?" he said again.

"Oromis informed Eragon of Galbatorix' eldunarya and in turn, Eragon informed me. Do you have any with you?"

Murtagh paled, almost imperceptibly. Nasuada could tell. He had been hoping she had forgotten; he had forgotten himself until now, and berated himself for drawing on Thorn's energy instead of that of the hearts of hearts.

"Don't lie to me, Murtagh," Nasuada said quietly, after a long pause.

"I… I do, have two with me."

Nasuada stared into Murtagh's eyes intensely. "Bring them to Eragon as soon as you return to my tent. But anyhow, this isn't what I was going to call you here for. Would you, Murtagh Shur'tugal, like to accompany me to Feinster? I'm giving you the choice against my better judgment, as I really should insist upon you coming."

Murtagh considered this for several moments. Was she asking him out of duty? Or simply because she enjoyed his company? The answer to that was obvious: she wanted to keep a close eye on him.

The first time he met this charming young lady, who had changed so much since then he realized, drifted to the forefront of his mind – and his heart fluttered.

_"Doesn't she look like a princess?" Eragon stiffened. Murtagh continued. "And the way she carries herself! When she first entered through that doorway, I thought she was one of the great ladies from Galbatorix's court."_

He still viewed her the same way. Her stature still displayed power and undeniable authority. No one dared oppose her, nor deny her will.

"I'll tag along," Murtagh said finally.

"Good. I give you permission to visit your dragon, but only after you turn the eldunari in to Eragon. I'll send a servant to my tent to do your bidding for now."

Murtagh nodded, meeting her eyes for a moment, the averting his gaze shyly when she met his. His heart was pounding in his ears as he turned to leave the pavilion.

"And Murtagh? Pack your bags – if you have any; we leave at daybreak tomorrow."

"How're we to get there?" asked Murtagh hoarsely, his back still turned.

"I was meaning to broach the subject. That brings the question of Thorn," Nasuada said thoughtfully standing. "If you decide against bringing him, he will be stuck here in Surda. Dragons do not take kindly to boredom, I imagine. If you do…" she sighed. "Again, it is completely your choice Murtagh."

"I'll bring Thorn."

"I'd expected as much. But seeing as how I need to keep you within eye and earshot at all times possible, that poses a problem: The two of you would have to stay with my horsemen and me. You could not fly ahead to Feinster."

"We could," Murtagh said quietly, "if you flew with us. It would be much less time consuming. Thorn and I could travel the distance from Aberon to Feinster in two days, perhaps even one."

Nasuada seemed to consider this for a moment. "What about supplies?"

"Thorn can carry whatever we'll need."

"What of my guards, the Nighthawks?"

"They can be sent with the pack horses." Murtagh grinned for the first time in a very long while. "You don't think a rider is protection enough? Or is it just me?"

Nasuada ignored this. "What about Eragon?" she mumbled herself. "He may not have enough protection against – well not Murtagh and Thorn, I suppose, but Galbatorix's troops… they need a commander…" she seemed to be rethinking her offer now.

"Are you scared of going on dragon back, Nasuada?" Murtagh teased. "I suppose Eragon never let you on Saphira. Don't worry," he assured her, "Thorn's a gentleman – dragon."

Lady Nightstalker fidgeted with her rose red dress. "Alright. We'll meet by the west entrance a dawn. You are dismissed."

It took Murtagh a long while to make his way back to Nasuada's tent, despite the fact that it was the same vermilion as the pavilion, the same vermilion he was used to, the color of his dragon's luminous scales.

The servant was already there when the rider located the structure. He brushed straight past him, stunned expression and all, and rummaged around looking for his small pack that contained the eldunarya he'd brought with him. As he did, he couldn't help but noticing a few of Nasuada's personal items. His old hand-and-a-half sword presented itself to him in a corner – how in the world? He remembered Tornac giving him this sword when he was young. He remembered abandoning this piece of precious childhood memorabilia for Zar'roc, his father's sword, without a moment's hesitation.

_Zar'roc_. Where was Zar'roc?

"_Eragon." _The name escaped as a snarl from Murtagh's lips. He should have realized this sooner. He always felt too safe around the Varden. That was going to have to change.

All else driven from his mind, no longer wishing to dawdle, Murtagh located his pack and told the servant to summon Selena's younger son.

Eragon appeared fifteen minutes later, having obviously made no haste. His eyes narrowed. "What is it?"

"What is it?" Murtagh laughed coldly. "You took my blade, that's what. My inheritance."

Comprehension flashed in Eragon's eyes. "I did," he admitted.

"Get your own sword, _brother," _Murtagh growled dangerously.

"I have my own sword!" Eragon said sharply, "a rider's blade, forged by Rhunön herself, albeit in a roundabout way."

Murtagh raised and eyebrow as the Shadeslayer unsheathed a magnificent blue hand-and-a-half sword, the same color as Saphira's scales.

Murtagh had always wanted his own blade to use in battle, rather than his cursed father's sword. It had been a lucky coincidence that Thorn had been the same color red as Morzan's dragon. It hadn't seemed right for Eragon to wield the crimson weapon on his azure dragon.

"Its name is Brisingr."

Murtagh yelped and leapt back in astonishment as the already deadly-looking weapon burst into blue, smokeless flame. He was certain that it could vanquish any non-magic using opponent in an instant, if they did not flee at the sight.

Concealing his shock, Murtagh raised an eyebrow. "It bursts into flame every time you utter its name, fire, in the Ancient Language. Interesting."

Experimentally, he shouted "Brisingr!"

"It only works when I do it," said Eragon, somewhat smugly. "I'll surrender Zar'roc when you need it," Eragon said, sheathing Brisingr.

"Better hand it over now; we, that is, Nasuada, Thorn, and I, are leaving for Feinster in the morning."

Eragon blinked. "Nasuada told me nothing of this."

Eragon opened the bag an "I'm not surprised. Perhaps you should've stuck around. By the way," Murtagh added, ignoring the furious look in his brother's eye, "I have something for you." Murtagh thrust his pack at Eragon, careful to hold it by the drawstrings, avoiding the cacophony of thoughts contained within.

d swore. "By all the demons above and below, where did you get these?"

"Galbatorix," Murtagh said shrugging. "Nasuada said to give them to you." Eragon just gaped into the pack. "You'd better turn over Zar'roc now."

The blue rider set off at an elf-paced run and was back with the red blade in minutes. Murtagh nodded and went to retrieve the sheath he had extracted from the bag earlier. To his dismay, the belt he'd hung all his weapons from, even his first dagger, was missing. He sighed.

Eragon was just leaving as Murtagh called out to him. "Eragon!" His half-brother whirled around. "Do you know where I could replace my belt?"

Eragon grinned. "Fredric, the weapons master. He has everything you'll need. Funny chap." He gave Murtagh direction to the armory. "And Thorn's being kept right around the corner, by the cook's tents."

So Murtagh set off to the weaponry. He found it without difficulty, due the men rushing in and out with arrow and shields and whatnot.

He entered warily, aware of all the eyes on him. How did they know what he looked like? He was sure half the Varden did not, but all who did seemed to be gathered in the tent.

"I'm looking for Fredric," Murtagh said quietly to a man with some kind of smelly hide on his burly frame.

"That'd be me," said Fredric, turning to face Murtagh. "And to what do I owe this honor?" his voice was cold.

"I'm with the Varden now," Murtagh mumbled. "Ask Nasuada herself. I need a belt for my sword."

"Well now," Fredric said, "what kind of belt?"

"Any kind you can spare." Murtagh still held Zar'roc's inscribe sheath in his hands, pressed to his side.

Fredric made his way around the large tent and tossed a plain, black leather belt to Murtagh, who caught it reflexively.

"It'd be magnificent to see you fight, Morzansson," said Fredric slowly. "Heck, you might even be a match for Arya. Say…" the weapons master rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Would duel Arya?"

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**Well, the faster you review, the faster you become a millionaire! Not really, but please review! I might get to Arya's POV for the next one. At least half of it will be from her's. **

**Ta Ta/ Chao/ Peace out/ REVIEW**

**-Seastar**


	12. Chapter 12

**A penny for my thought? Okay, I know you don't really care, but here goes:**

***I hate it when people just use this random magic in Inheritance fics, like "And Arya just instantly had perfect mascara." NO. The shoulder relocating thing really grated on my nerves, but what can you do?**

***I don't want anything super de duper drastic to happen like "Eragon defeats Galby, the end." I've tried. I've tried fics incorporating the fourth egg. It just ain't happnin'. I don't have the paitience. Or time.**

**Anyway, forgive me, the dialogue is pretty unrealistic. If I hadn't already published the last chapter, I would've cut this part. It took me SO long, but I got myself into that mess. And _muchas gracias _to my loyal reviewers. You know who you are. Inspirational. It took so freaking long to write the last sentece in this, but I've found a new book series! Artemis Fowl. Read 'em. And of course homework, friends, et cetera, and all that crap is finally taking over my life. Oh well. CHAPTER 12! (Please excuse my random all-over-the-place thoughts).

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"Duel Arya?" Murtagh confirmed, a note of incredulity coloring his tone. "She's an ELF!"

"And you're Morzan's son. You may be evenly matched. From what Eragon's told me, I've gathered that you beat him before you could even use magic," Fredric said, smiling, his previous agitation and disgust but a memory now.

"Yes…" Murtagh said slowly.

Before he could say anything else, Fredric exclaimed, "Wonderful! Meet me outside this tent in an hour."

An hour later, the better part of the Varden was gathered outside the weaponry. Murtagh's palms were sweating incessantly as he spun Zar'roc, and paced inside the tent.

Nasuada stormed toward the crowd. They were congregating around the armory, she realized.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded the head of the Varden when she found Fredric.

The weapons master grinned. "A duel!" he said simply.

"A duel? Between whom? And why are you allowing this?"

"Between Murtagh and Arya! It's all in good fun, my lady. It was my idea, to tell the truth. But it's going to be brilliant!"

"Arya agreed to fight Murtagh?" Nasuada asked, amusement overriding her sense of dutifulness for a moment.

Fredric nodded. "It took a bit of prodding, but in the end, I convinced her."

Nasuada shook her head. "This is no time for dueling. I'm leaving for Feinster in the morning with Murtagh, and –" the rest of her protests were drowned out by thunderous cheering.

"They're starting!" Fredric exclaimed.

Murtagh exited the tent to deafening cheers. He stalked onto the field. The elf, Arya, seemed to approach him in slow motion, twirling her sword like a tempest.

Murtagh blinked and time caught up with him. He could here nothing else when the elf said, "Draw your sword, Argetlam."

The name caught Murtagh by surprise; He'd only ever heard his brother called shining palm. He drew his sword and squared off against Arya.

Without warning, she swung her thin blade up to his shoulder. He blocked at the last moment, shocked. Then he scowled with determination.

He cleaved Zar'roc through the air. The elf ducked, her hair flying up. Zar'roc trimmed a few strands. She chopped at his legs. Fighting was exhilarating. The large assembled crowed soon escaped his notice, and his only focus was dealing and avoiding blows. The elf did not look strong. On the contrary, at first glance you'd think her a dainty maiden. Murtagh had never known her in Farthen Dûr. She was evidently a fierce warrior.

Murtagh was having trouble keeping track of time now. He figured he should be beginning to tire, but adrenaline fueled his limbs and willed him to fight longer. Something in the crowd distracted Arya for a moment.

The red rider took the entrance.

Her neck was exposed and unguarded.

Murtagh blinked, the motion taking a fragment of a second.

A bout of sparks red and yellow sparks from both blades filled the air and Murtagh felt his shoulder give jolt, meeting an unyielding force. How the devil…?

A moment later he was on the ground, grasping his dislocated shoulder and gasping for air, the flat of a thin, graceful blade pressed against his neck.

Arya peered down at him; Murtagh glared up at her. The elf raised her eyebrow and sheathed her left-handed sword.

"You have a prowess in swordplay, Murtagh Shur'tugal."

Murtagh could only stare at her, short on breath, the pain in his shoulder worsening by the second.

When he regained his breath, he muttered a spell to pop his shoulder back into its socket, and stood. The elf still watched him, her green-eyed gaze unwavering. Murtagh did not know whether to bow, or shake hands, or anything, as he did not know the elves customs.

Nasuada saved him the trouble by rushing up.

"Murtagh! Why would you even think of dueling Arya?"

"It was Fredric's idea," Murtagh countered. He had known it would cause nothing but pain for him from the start.

"I've already had it out with him. And Arya! What brought on this behavior? You know full well we're leaving for Feinster in less than a day!"

"He is proficient in the art of swordplay," Arya said. "That is all I wished to know."

"Of course he is!" Nasuada snapped. "How else could he have beaten Eragon on the Burning Plains?"

"That was a test of strength. This was a test of endurance and agility. Murtagh passed." Arya strode away.

Nasuada looked infuriated. "That elf! And you! Don't think for a moment that I'm finished with you! You think you can just go gallivanting off and then reveal yourself to the whole Varden!" She crossed her arms. "Go, go! Jörmundur, clear the field!" Nasuada continued her tirade. "They must be terrified."

"You said I could go out," Murtagh said, casting his eyes down and feeling very much like a young child.

"You know what I meant. Now, just stay in my tent until tomorrow. I'll have someone direct you to your new quarters in a few hours."

"Yes, lady." Murtagh took off through the horde of people.

He found Nasuada's tent without difficulty this time. He was just beginning to grow accustomed to the Varden, and was reluctant to leave.

_Just like in Farthen Dûr, _He thought. He sighed. _Thorn?_

_Yes, Little Misery? _

_I'm sorry, but I think I've blown my chances of seeing in person sky high._

Thorn mentally growled. _I see. What have you done this time?_

Murtagh chuckled. _Got into a duel with an elf._

_Stupid of you. _

_Humph. I didn't really think I could best her; I was simply testing my abilities. _

_And making a fool of yourself? _

_As a matter of fact, no, _Murtagh snapped. _Anyway, the point is, Nasuada has confined me to this tent until we depart for Feinster. _

They continued a string of idle conversation until a servant came to show Murtagh his tent. It was only about five tents from Nasuada's red one.

The red rider sulked into the tent, not even bothering to thank the servant for what he most certainly was not grateful for. He dropped on the low four-poster bed and crossed his arms.

All he could do now was wait.

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**Thank you SOOO much for reading! (I'm assuming you have, if you've made it this far down the page). Can I thank you in advance for REVIEWING? Thank you for reviewing! Seriously, when I get those emails, I smile like heck. I love 'em. I tried to look over the chapter for mistakes, but I've gotta be somewhere. See ya. **

**-Seastar**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Hey guys! Chapter 13 is ready. If you've read my previous updates, you've probably noticed how I'm putting off them getting to Feinster... Yeah, well I'm putting it off until next chapter. I still have some brainstorming. Anyway, I'm sorry to say, I've been having some technical difficulties :( My laptop broke and I can't use my family computer for two hours, so I devised a plan: First, I write out everything. Then, I type it onto my iPod touch notes app, and then I email it to myself, then I revise it on my family's computer, which only takes about fifteen minutes, opposed to 2 hours. Anyway, the only problem is I have homework and blah blah blah, and it takes me a longer time to get each update out :( I'm tryin'. Enough of my problems, just read the chapter :). And review, please.**

**Chapter 13**

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Nasuada stuck her head into Murtagh's new tent just evening broke.

"Murtagh?" she said softly. The rider hauled himself upright. "Yeah?" he grunted. His shoulder still pained him from the day's earlier exertion.

"I've brought Thorn."

"Hmm?" This surprised Murtagh.

_You can't even give me a heads up?_ He demanded.

Thorn bristled. _She insisted I not disturb you._

Murtagh sighed. He felt as though Thorn were on an ice floe, growing more and more distant with each passing second, and gliding off into some miserable, unbidden sea. They hadn't been conversing very much ever since they seemed to be out of mortal peril. They certainly weren't as protective of each other any longer.

_I'd hate to think our entire relationship was based off of fear and a desire to keep living,_ Murtagh thought to himself.

Thorn sensed his feelings. _Don't become too worried, Little Misery; plenty of peril surely awaits us._

_You're not concerned, then? How are things going to be when we settle down and Alagaësia is finally peaceful? We'll be as bitter as two widowed old hags!_

_If we live that long, we'll worry about it then,_ said Thorn curtly. He severed the connection between them.

"I have a proposition," said Nasuada. She was still leaning into the tent, and her ringing tones made Murtagh's skin tingle.

"That would be?" he stretched and rubbed his eyes, though had been lying awake.

"For you to say more than a few choppy sentences to me at a time. And to ride Thorn to confirm that I shouldn't be sick a few hours into the flight to Feinster. It would be a shame to have to fly back and lose that much time."

She turned abruptly and left to tent, apparently intending to continue the conversation outside.

Murtagh strode over to Thorn and began scratching in between his scarlet scales. He was unable to distinguish blood from anything else.

_You need a bath,_ he said disgustedly.

_So do you,_ Thorn snapped.

"Can we bathe first?" asked Murtagh.

In the river, Thorn added, projecting his thoughts so Nasuada could hear.

The young lady sighed and shook her head. "We haven't the time," she said. "Though it would be favorable to ride on a clean dragon. Anyhow, you wouldn't be able to bathe in the Jiet River, it's so disgusting."

Murtagh shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, holding out a hand and hoisting Lady Nightstalker into the saddle. She looked a bit awkward, perched atop the red dragon, not knowing what to hold on to. Murtagh smirked.

The red rider slung himself up as lithely as any elf could. Once in the saddle, he expertly fastened the straps on Nasuada's legs. He'd had a replica of the saddle Brom ha firs constructed for Eragon made for him in Uru'baen. He'd grown accustomed to strapping Arya into it. A mistake, of course. Nothing in his life ever stayed the same. It was like a rug being pulled out from under his feet.

Nasuada was glancing around uneasily. Murtagh planted her clammy hands on one of Thorn's spikes.

"Just keep hold of that. You'll be fine." He smiled reassuringly, earning only a delicate frown in return.

_Go easy, Thorn_, he thought.

_Say please._

_Please._

The dragon took off with a jolt. Clouds of dust and grime billowed around them; this had not been a good place to takeoff. Nasuada's scream was reduced to a choked squeal. Murtagh studied her as Thorn gained altitude and the dust cleared. She was wearing a turquoise dress up to her knees instead of the customary ankle-length. Her eyes were still squeezed shut and her lashes were so thick that brushed her dark cheeks. She was beautiful. If he ignored Thorn's heavy stench, Murtagh could smell a faint, cinnamony scent. He turned his attention to his dragon when she opened her eyes.

_How are you?_ He asked guardedly, ready for a scathing reply.

_Alright._

_They've been treating well? I'll have their heads if they haven't._

_Yes. Nasuada visits me often. She is very interested in the way I was brought up and trained in Uru'baen, in comparison to Saphira._

_Hmm..._ Murtagh thought to himself.

_Perhaps that is the real reason why Nasuada wants to fly Thorn. There's no way we could be eavesdropped upon, so high in the air. Except maybe by the birds and bats. A courageous attempt, nonetheless._

Nasuada interrupted his thoughts. He would have to continue his first civil conversation with Thorn later.

"Forgive me, Shur'tugal, for I know I am reiterating a question you've been asked before - but how exactly were you trained in Uru'baen?"

Murtagh gritted his teeth. He was right. "There's plenty of time for that on the trip to Feinster," he skirted. "How do you like it up here?"

"It's beautiful." They were silent. There was no subject, other than that of Galbatorix, Uru'baen, and dragon riders, to broach.

"How have you been?" asked Murtagh in a lame attempt at conversation.

"Myself or the Varden as a whole?" asked Nasuada. She sounded extraordinarily weary.

"Yourself."

"Confused. Frustrated. Leading the Varden is a tiresome task." The young maiden sighed helplessly. "How can I concentrate on defeating Galbatorix when I must look over report after report of petty complaints and thievery? My job is so varied, that sometimes I still feel like I am still dealing with the council of Elders and civilians, when really I am conversing with King Orrin, the sole reason why the Varden is having relative good luck - and I cannot hold my tongue. And there is still the matter of finances. Unless Galbatorix himself starts to fund the Varden, I don't know what we are going to do. The elves have cut trade with us and still refuse to offer their support in warriors, the Dwarves are already lending their sustenance in too-massive amounts, and even if the humans not fighting against the accursed king feed the Varden, it still will not be sufficient." She sighed again.

"Do you ever cease worrying?" Murtagh wondered aloud. It seemed unimaginable to his that one person could have so much floating around their head at one time. Unless they weren't your own thoughts. But even so, sharing a mind with Thorn and twenty eldunarya at once probably couldn't compare to what Nasuada had to deal with day-in and day-out.

"It seems like ten more of you wouldn't be enough," he continued. "And I'm sure that's not even the half of it."

Nasuada's creased brow smoothed, and though she released the frown from her lips, she did not smile.

"Ten more of me would be nice. And a break from this chaos. I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if my duties didn't take so much out of me."

"You need to learn how to relax. Tornac taught me a long time ago. Try to come to terms with your current situation. I'll teach you; we'll have the time."

Thorn bucked.

_What?_ Asked Murtagh.

_Nothing. Just an updraft._ The red dragon maneuvered out of the upward stream of air. Nasuada tightened her grip on Thorn's back spike, but made no sound.

The weather had become significantly warmer since Murtagh had first arrived. Not that the cold bothered Murtagh. Uru'baen was no Hadarac. But the air, he noticed, had a bone-clinging chill to it, as if foretelling some imminent disaster.

"Shall we land?" the red rider asked politely.

"No," said Lady Nightstalker, rubbing her hands together cautiously, moving them only a fraction of an inch away from her red hand-hold. "I like it up here. I really do." Her tone rang with conviction, unlike earlier when she had responded unenthusiastically to Murtagh's question. "It's easy to take my mind off my obligations and just... Relax."

_Yeah,_ Murtagh thought, _it's easy for her to relax_ after _she's spurted her emotions all out on me._

Nasuada, finally seeming to let go of her inhibitions, settled in the saddle behind Murtagh and released a pent-up breath.

The chill became progressively more prominent, though, until they were forced to land. Murtagh dismounted.

"I don't think the flight to Feinster should be a problem, Murtagh," said Nasuada, once on the ground. She curtsied, and then strode gracefully into the night. But not without glancing reluctantly behind her, at dragon and rider's silhouettes

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**I don't know about you, but I like the word breathe a lot better than the word breath. ANYWAY, I must confess, I had a barrel of monkeys writing this chapter! Not hard at all. The next one might be a little harder, though, because I'm Finally bringing it back to Nasuada's POV. REVIEW! (PLEASE?)**

**Peace out/ Chao/ Read my next chapter!/ Bye.**

**-Seastar**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Hey guys. I'm having problems with this fic. In my mind, I mean. Like, Murtagh's framework is so _vauge. _It is driving me _up the wall_. Let me know what you think, please. Also, I think Tuesday will be my official updating day. I always seem to finish my chapters on Tuesdays... Happy reading!**

_**CHAPTER 14!**_

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Nasuada was reluctant to leave her dreams. Still, they slowly drifted out of her mind as she drifted back into consciousness.

She opened her eyes and rolled out of bed. It was far less comfortable since Murtagh had slept in it and mashed down the mattress.

Murtagh. Some thinking had to be done about him.

Lady Nightstalker peered out of her tent flap. It was cloudy, though the moon could be still be seen, just disappearing under yonder. She still had some time to sleep.

But she couldn't. Her dream was coming back to her in foggy fragments.

_She was on a dragon. A dragon that was as black as the void itself. There was a battle raging around them... And a sword, a sword came hurtling through the din - and struck the dragon in the chest. The ebony beast roared._

_She was on a cot, clawing at her own chest. Then if felt as if a tremendous weight was being lifted off of her person. Then wild terror replaced it. She screamed a name._

_"SHRU-!"_

Nasuada cut the thought off as one pinches a leaking water skin. She felt feverish and dominantly sorrowful. How was it possible to feel in ones dreams? She knew not.

The young maiden considered summoning Farica, her loyal hand maid, but what good would it do? She would be in a frenzy, with the daunting prospect of having no mistress to take orders from looming over her.

So Nasuada lay in bed again, staring at the tent's red ceiling until she figured it must be time to start preparation for the voyage. It was impossible for her to tell, seeing as how she'd lost the time piece King Orrin had given her upon arriving in Aberon - when was it? Six, eight months ago? Long enough. Perhaps it was time to move the Varden, before Galbatorix located them. The expedition to Feinster presented the perfect opportunity to determine whether the city was safe enough for her people.

Nasuada pulled herself up, feeling more fatigued than she had before. By the time she had washed, dressed, found her trunk outside Farica's tent, and examined it and the saddlebags beside it, Nasuada had a TO-DO list that would have been Saphira's length had it been written out on a scroll (as she would have preferred) and not being contained in her aching head.

Just as the sun was beaming its first rays over the eastern entrance, Nasuada entered Farica's tent.

The maid had her back turned to the entry flap. When she turned around, she let out a startled exclamation. "Please, excuse my excitement, my lady," she said, realizing that her mistress stood in the doorway.

"It's alright, Farica. Shall be accompanying me to the North Gate?"

Farica's hand flew to her mouth. "It can't be time for you to depart yet! Why, your trunk, the packs-"

"Have all been readied, by you for that matter. Now stop gaping at me and let's go. We're late enough as it is."

Murtagh and Thorn stood serenely at the North gate, their backs to the approaching ladies.

_Watching the sunrise, having a silent conversation_, Nasuada inferred.

The bonded pair seemed almost too beautiful to look at, Thorn's blood-red scales glowing ever so brilliantly in the orange-tinged shafts of light that managed to slip through the clouds, Murtagh leaning against his rough foreleg.

The young maiden felt a twinge of envy at their intimacy and radiance. Then she noticed the contents of her trunk strewn about the ground.

It wasn't the entire contents of her trunk. About half.

"What's this?" She asked Murtagh, holding up one of her better pairs of shoes.

The young red rider turned around. His ice blue eyes shone with intensity for a moment, but the blazing look was quickly replaced with one of amusement.

"We took the saddlebags, as we were instructed. I could tell you had already looked them over, so I loaded Thorn up. He tried to take off, but the trunk was a bit too cumbersome." Murtagh's face split into a smile. "We figured if we were going to get anywhere fast, we should remove at least half your weight."

"I see," said Nasuada, thinking how Eragon and Saphira never would have done this. A roll of thunder sounded in the distance. She sighed in frustration.

"I hope you've made the saddlebags impervious to water, Murtagh."

She gathered her things from the ground, and removed various items from the bottom of her trunk before replacing them.

"Hopefully that will be satisfactory," she Lady Nightstalker said, standing. "Have these things taken back to my pavilion, Farica."

Murtagh hefted the significantly lighter trunk onto Thorn while Farica scurried off and Nasuada straightened her traveling cloak and her dress.

"How long are you anticipating this tip to take, Murtagh?" It felt so informal using the rider's first name, but Argetlam and Shur'tugal seemed even less appropriate.

"I was hoping a day and a half," the young man replied, "but Mother Nature seems to be having its own plans." Lightning flashed in the distance, emphasizing his point.

Nasuada wrinkled her nose delicately. Flying was alright. Flying in the rain – a different thing entirely.

She decided to ask the obvious of Murtagh. "Is there any way we can, perhaps, delay the flight a day or two?" It was a silly question, really. She had been the one pressing their departure for days.

"Squeamish, are we? A little rain never killed a person, you know."

Nasuada scowled. "Funny, I never knew you to be the teasing type, back in Farthen Dûr, when I used to visit you every day," she said, hard determination showing in her eyes. Whatever Murtagh thought she could take, at that moment, she was sure she could take ten times worse.

"I didn't either." There just seemed, to Murtagh, to be an excess amount of things to tease about when Nasuada was around.

"Shall we go?" He asked, dropping the subject. He held out his hand for Nasuada, just as he had the other night.

Knowing full well what might await, she took it – grudgingly.

To Nasuada's utter horror, it began raining about half an hour after they took off. Hard.

Murtagh seemed to be enjoying it, though. He held his head high and squeezed his eyes shut as the drops pelted his pale face.

Apparently he'd forgotten who was sitting behind him, getting soaked to the bone.

"Murtagh," Nasuada growled through clenched teeth.

The red rider seemed to jerk out of some unreal fantastical reality, before answering. "Yes?"

"Can we, by any chance, get out of this pleasant shower?" She saved sarcasm for when she was extra infuriated.

"I suppose," Murtagh said reluctantly. Without any audible or visible prodding, Thorn jetted upward, into the clouds.

The view would have been spectacular, had it not been obstructed by the ugly, black clouds that matched Nasuada's mood. Still, the sun was shining.

It was, actually, quite stuffy above a thunderhead, not at all like one would expect. Nasuada was just beginning to regret having had made Murtagh fly out of the storm, or having been convinced that it was better to fly ahead with him at all, when Murtagh said, "Say, have you ever tried to use magic, or touch anyone's mind?"

"Yes."

"Can you?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"No."

"Wouldn't you like to try again, at least?" Murtagh pestered.

Nasuada sighed. "Alright. Though I've trained with the most skilled magicians of the Varden as a child. I doubt magic runs in my blood."

Murtagh snorted. "Ah, but the Varden's spell caster's can't even imagine the power Galbatorix has. And he taught me everything I know. I'll make a magician out of you yet."

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**One more thing: If I update on Tuesdays, then I want a bunch of REVIEWS by Thursday night! So tell your friends (if you aren't too ashmed to tell them you read fanfiction, like I am), and if you have any suggestions on how to make a fanfic popular, let me know in a REVIEW. And yes, I will always capitalize the word REVIEW.**

**Bye/Peace out, my homies/Chao/Sayonara (it that's even how you spell it)**

**-Seastar97**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Hey guys! It's Tuesday! Or what ever day it is now that your reading this. But now it's Tuesday, update day! And I have an update ready that I worked super duper hard on, because I fell behind like three days, and I wasn't even in my house able to waste time in front of a computer, typing out meaningless stuff. Anyway, again, the story has only advanced, like, two minutes because it's a flashback. I'm not really sure if I already told this part of the story before, because I have the weird feeling I already have, but if I did, screw that, this is as good as it's gonna get. Also about the flashback, it's not really Nasuada remembering in the flashback; it's more like the entire recount, because it felt really important to include Murtagh's POV too, so I apologize for the jumping-around-ness. And I'm not really sure if Brom knew about Murtagh, so correct me if I'm wrong. Enough from me.**

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**Chapter 15!**

Training with Murtagh was proving to be overwhelmingly tedious. Nothing was _happening_. Though Nasuada did have a quick laugh when the magnificent red dragon swerved abruptly swerved, knocking his droning rider off balance, and, for a moment, seeing him flailing around before he caught himself.

Thorn's flight patterns were revealing themselves as nervous and erratic. Nervous, erratic and rambunctious. Nasuada had been subjected to vertigo numerous times already.

She sighed – something she had been doing a lot lately, it seemed. The clouds had finally cleared after five hours in the sky, but it did nothing to reduce the heat. Murtagh's nose was sunburn- reddened, and the glare from Thorn's scales was almost unbearable.

Yet, the red rider still seemed full of magic rules and spell usage scenarios.

"Never use absolutes; they could be the end of you."

Nasuada half wished she actually knew what an absolute was. "This would all be very helpful, if I could actually use magic," the bored young lady retorted. Every time she had asked Murtagh for a demonstration, or if she was going to have a go herself, the snappy response was, "We'll get to that."

"I'm sure you can," Murtagh insisted. "Now for your first exercise.

_Finally._

"Try to break into my mind. But first, what are the three principles to wearing a magician's defenses down?"

Nasuada blinked. That had been pushed at her four hours ago, at the beginning of Murtagh's lecture.

The young red rider rolled his eyes and repeated the rules. Nasuada was sure she wouldn't be able to recall them at a later date.

"Will you not be able to block me?" she asked cynically, "I'd bet you could prevent Galbatorix from breaking you mind if you had to."

Murtagh smiled, accepting the compliment. "I'll go easy. Now go!"

After pushing a strand of hair out of her face, Nasuada concentrated with all her might, despite the still-muggy air whistling through her ears, and her temptation to look downward.

To her, if was as if Murtagh had barricaded his mind with a brick wall. Her mind was like the battering ram the Varden had used to overtake Feinster; the rider's mind was weakening with every blow.

Murtagh obviously could have redoubled his efforts, but Nasuada was doing extremely well, he thought. Extremely well. It was obvious in her composure and the way she sat rigid-backed in the saddle that was pouring all of her strength into the task, but her expression remained porcelain-perfect, and the only evidence of her struggle was a bead of sweat rolling down her nose.

Eventually, Nasuada broke Murtagh's mind.

Before she had a chance to be disappointed by the stretch of time it had taken her to accomplish her endeavor, Murtagh projected the words, _"Well done,"_ into her mind.

And they sent cold shivers down her spine.

She'd felt so close to Murtagh for that that one moment. She understood the amazing bond between dragon and rider. Eragon had been right (for once); there was no other way to describe it: Touching another's mind was like rubbing a bear facet of one's soul on theirs.

Nasuada had always been inexplicably trusting and honest towards Murtagh. Now she knew why; she and Murtagh were alike in ways she never could have even imagined. She could relate to him a different level than she could with anyone else.

"I knew you could do it!" Murtagh exclaimed, grinning. Nasuada averted her eyes from his gleeful expression.

He patted her shoulder. "Let's move on."

Nasuada just shook her head, feeling withdrawn. After a few minutes, she asked, "How is it, that you still seem the same as when I first met you in you. In your cell in Farthen Dûr, remember?"

The rider was caught off guard by the sudden turn the conversation was taking. He remembered…

_The door cell door swung open, and Murtagh was startled into consciousness._

_"What do you want?" he asked groggily, scowling through the semi-darkness. The only light was coming through the door, which still stood ajar, since Murtagh had put out the lamps for It was impossible to tell what time it was in the city mountain without being able to judge from noon. But the noon-time sun was having difficulty penetrating the windowless cell._

_"Are you here to execute me?"_

_To Murtagh's intense surprise, a light laugh tinkled through the air._

_"On the contrary," a feminine voice said. Feminine. Perhaps they weren't going to execute him. "The Varden is beyond relieved to have you here."_

_One of the lights flipped on, revealing a girl of Ajihad's complexion, about seventeen or eighteen, beautiful and alive in her youth._

_"Of course the Varden is glad to have me," said Murtagh bitterly, only momentarily distracted by the girl's bearing. She was tall, graceful and the way she carried herself around the room, busily flicking lamps on, would have put even the finest lady of Galbatorix' court to shame. Murtagh had seen her; she was something to marvel, but a hog in comparison to this girl. "Now they know I can't be wreaking havoc in some other part of Alagaësia."_

_The young lady's smile faltered. He spoke the truth. "I am Nasuada, daughter of Ajihad," she said, evading the subject. She had no intention of making the prisoner angry, partially because her father would have her head if word ever go to him, and partially because, if he really was who all the guards said he was before the had extremely reluctantly granted her entry to the cell, she did not know what he might do to her. He was Morzan's son. Supposedly. But for whatever reason, she was almost sure that this young man had no intention of harming her. He kept a hard façade, but he was still young and sweet at heart._

_"Are you really-?"_

_"Morzan's son?" the prisoner interrupted with a grim smile. "Ask your father; apparently we bear- er, bore- a striking resemblance."_

_"I've heard stories about Morzan," said Nasuada, "Brom knew he had a son. He knew about the horrible things he did to you, Murtagh. Was he really as bad a Brom said, or were Brom's memories poisoned by his hatred for Morzan?"_

_"He was worse when no one else was around," Murtagh admitted in a strained voice, summoning painful childhood memories. "Did Brom know about the-?"_

_"Slash he gave you with Zar'roc? You must have a horrendous scar from that experience. Perhaps our healer can help. May I... See it?" She spoke hesitantly._

_Murtagh lifted his tunic, exposing his back. His scar was gnarled and twisted, as always. Nasuada ran her cool fingers over it, speechless._

_"I can't imagine," she whispered. "And so young..." She turned away._

_One of the guards banged on the door. "My lady?"_

_Nasuada curtsied. "You'll be safe here. I promise. It was nice meeting you, Murtagh."_

_She swept out of the room like a princess._

"I remember. Am I really the same?" Murtagh stared down at the far-below earth.

"It seems so to me..."

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**Thanks for reading! I was REALLY happy with the reviewers this week! I think I got nine. It was AWESOME. In all seriousness, I scream "YES!" every single time I see one of those emails. No joke. And it makes me so happy when someone is like 'I've been following your story since chapter one and it so awesome!' Or something like that even though you've never reviewed. Because the only way I know if you like my story is if you review, so just REVIEW, if you get nothing else out of this rambling. :)**

**-Seastar97**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: It's Update Day! Yay! Hey guys, I have Chapter 16 ready, and that I am surprised of. Anyway, yes, Murtagh is having quite an abudance of problem, mostly with inner turmoil. You know. And, for those of you who don't already know, Cithri is a little town/village/city (your choice) in between Aberon and Melian (see Cithri desciption for that). **

**DISCLAIMER: I know, I know, I haven't put the disclaimer in for, like, fourteen chapters. I don't own Inheritance Cylce, CP does. And I hate it when people put something witty like 'but I will, as soon as I kill Christopher Paolini!' because that's just not going to happen. :)**

**Please review, and happy reading!**

_**~CHAPTER 16~**_

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Living in the past wasn't working for Murtagh anymore. So long he'd been trying to relive the happier times that had been torn so brutally away from him: Learning swordplay from Tornac in the days of his innocence; escaping from Uru'baen, his father, and Galbatorix and being blissfully free; helping Eragon, Brom, and Saphira, the first time he had ever trusted anyone at all with his back. Even being captive in the Varden had been better than training day in and day out with Galbatorix.

All of these good memories, periods when he had been at peace, or at the very least, somewhat content with himself, were marred by misfortune and sadness. Tornac, of course had been murdered years ago; Brom had been killed, and Saphira and Eragon no longer trusted him the way they had despite their best efforts; and the Twins had taken him back to Galbatorix.

Murtagh refused to think that this was the root cause of his bitter attitude, but deep down, he knew it was so. It was time to make new memories.

Thorn sensed his partner's nostalgia, but having not been with Murtagh by any means except memory, could do nothing to quell his rider's feeling of sadness or wistfulness. Murtagh almost smiled. Almost. Thorn was the only family he had left beside Eragon, and through Eragon, Saphira.

The journey had been virtually silent since the magic lesson. They had been flying for seven hours, nonstop. Nasuada was groaning and muttering more and more intermittently.

An hour later, Murtagh was still cursing his bad luck, and now, his family name.

_A family of dragon riders indeed,_ he thought disgustedly_, what kind of dastardly act did I commit in prior life to deserve this? Son of Morzan, last of the forsworn. Bah! I_ _am the son of no such bastard_. What did I do to deserve this?

Of course, the rider had been asking himself this question ever since he was old enough to understand what kind of man his father was, and the answer was becoming no clearer. He remembered and rued that day...

_"Tornac?" the young boy asked, about eight or nine at the time, pale enough to make any ghost jealous, and ice blue eyes that were simultaneously ghastly and beautiful. The boy sheathed his small dagger - his first dagger - and handed it to the tall, lean man who stood next to him._

_"Yes, Murtagh?"_

_"Where does father go when he's away? I'd ask him, but I'm afraid he'll yell and slash his sword again, like he did when I asked him about mother." The youth gingerly felt the red, ragged scar on his back. It still pained him something awful at times, but the healer would put poultices on it to alleviate the pain. It was as if it angered Morzan to see his heir growing up and thinking and asking questions for himself._

_Tornac sighed. "As you know, your father works for the king, long may he live," the man added, glancing around then rolling his eyes at the ridiculous phrase that was required by law to be tacked on to any title for the king._

_"Yes," said Murtagh, nodding eagerly._

_"And you know that he travels with-" the name of the banished dragon was slurred in Murtagh's mind._

_"Yes, yes," the boy replied. "But where does he go?"_

_Tornac fiddled with the small dagger in his hand. He knew what kind of treacherous acts his little charge's sire committed; word traveled fast among the servants. But he figured the time was right for the child to know..._

_"Your father-"_

"Can't we land now?" Nasuada complained, breaking Murtagh's train of thought. "It's been-" she consulted her new-found timepiece- "eight hours since we left Aberon."

The rider irritably grumbled internally. "We can stop in Cithrí, for the moment. "You obviously aren't accustomed to flying for the entire day or more. But that's going to have to change. This trip may take longer than I anticipated."

Nasuada scowled behind Murtagh's back. _Anything Murtagh thought she could handle, she was sure she could take ten times worse._

"Never mind," the young lady curtly. "I want you to tell me about your training with Galbatorix in Uru'baen."

The rider grimaced. He should have seen this coming, he realized in hindsight. He'd been attempting to avoid this particular topic.

"Training? More like imprisonment," he retorted to distract her.

"Call it what you like," Nasuada replied calmly. "Let me tell you, it is essential that we know exactly what Galbatorix taught you in Uru'baen. Eragon and Saphira will be able to use the information to gain the upper hand over the king and with you on their side- if you so choose to aid the Varden- Galbatorix will be at our feet."

"There's not much to tell..." skirted Murtagh. Memories that needed replacing made their way to the forefront of his mind.

"Also, withholding information not helping us defeat Galbatorix. That is what you want, isn't it?"

Murtagh sighed, reluctant to completely spill his guts. Still, quietly, he recounted everyday's schedule, then what he had learned.

From what Nasuada could tell, the red rider wasn't that much more skilled than the blue rider. He just had much more power, providing he had at least an eldunarya on his person.

And the schedule had proved to be even less important. There was not magical combination of events that made a man invulnerable, as it turned out.

What Nasuada did learn, and would have to relay to Eragon as soon as possibly possible, was:

Galbatorix did indeed have lots of eldunarya. Lots and lots. And there was no way that Murtagh could fathom yet to defeat the king.

"Give me some time," said Murtagh, to console Nasuada, who was groaning loudly. "I'm sure I can think of something."

Fifteen minutes later, to ease the uncomfortable silence the trio had fallen into, Murtagh took the food out. It was quite an entertaining acrobatics act. The rider, who had done this countless times, received new chills from the nervous laughs emanating from Nasuada as he removed their rations from the saddlebags.

Are you hungry? Murtagh asked his dragon.

No, the dragon replied, I just went hunting last night. I'll have a strip of meet or two, though.

Murtagh threw a strip of dried, cured pork out into empty air in front of Thorn. As the dragon caught the food, his jaws shut with a resounding snap, rattling Nasuada, who was trying, as delicately as possible, to make a meal out of the miniscule amount of provisions the red rider had unevenly divvied out between the two of them.

Murtagh absently chewed his food as he studied Nasuada. She folded the rough cloth napkin and placed it in her lap. She carefully balanced the water skin on one knee and lifted her meat off the other. She took a bite - and promptly spit it out. She snatched the water skin up to rid her mouth of the apparently utterly offensive taste - and promptly spat that over Thorn's side as well, knocking the water skin down with it.

"What is this?" She demanded.

Murtagh didn't understand what was wrong with the food. "Breakfast ale. Haven't you ever had it, princess? And now you've gone and lost the water skin." The rider tutted and shook his head in mock disdain.

Murtagh was chiding her like a young child, and Nasuada wasn't going to take it sitting down. The only thing stopping her was the leg straps.

"And just how many years are you to my senior?"

Murtagh shrugged. "I'm twenty."

Nasuada gave his a cold-eyed stare. "So am I."

"Are you are you going to finish that?" asked Murtagh, gesturing to the rations in her lap. The young lady rolled her eyes.

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**Thanks for reading! The next one will probably be from someone else's POV. Probably. I try to get these done as fast a I possibly can, and those require a bit more thinking... **

**Chao, and REVIEW, please. **

**-Seastar97**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I am ashamed. I didn't update last week, and I'm sorry. There was a bug going around. Well, good news, and bad news. Bad first. I only got 3(!) reviews for chapter 16. Eek. I'm dissapointed, but whatever. The good news it, the NEW INHERITANCE CYCLE BOOK IS COMING OUT IN NOVEMBER! It's called _Inherihtance. _It looks great, if you haven't seen it, go look it up before you even read this chapter. And before I forget: DISCLAIMER: I don't own the totally awesome Inheritance Cycle, or the characters. Anyway, I know it's going slow, but I swear, thing are just heating up. Also to avoid confusion, Zoë it pronounced just like Zoe (or, if you happen to have a cool accent like Murtagh's, you can pronounce it "Zoo-eh, er whatever), but without the little dots, it just didn't seem inheritancy enough. Happy readin'! And I'm begging you, please review! BTW, Thanks to Restrained Freedom for the awesome reviews and the little tip on how to update inheritance fics! Works great!**

_**CHAPTER 17!**_

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Spending the entire day in the sky was upsetting Nasuada's judgment of time. She had begun feeling ill at the close of the journey, after she'd fallen asleep for a few minutes with Murtagh's clammy hand on her arm. But that had only served to make her groggier.

Her headache increased when she recalled what had to be done when they arrived at their destination. A meeting had to be secured Lady Lorana, who was being kept under lock, key, and a watchful eye at present. Murtagh had to be hidden - and as for his dragon... She couldn't even think about it.

Murtagh, the main cause of all this stress, was looking rather bedraggled. His eyelids were drooping, and seemed a bit less than half awake, frankly.

Nasuada looked down. The lights of Feinster finally showed themselves. She leaned over her strapped leg and pinched Murtagh's bare, muscled arm. He was startled out of his stupor.

"Huh?"

"Murtagh," Nasuada hissed, "tell your dragon to land. I think I can see Feinster."

The young lady let out a pent up breath as Thorn alighted on a small outcropping of rock. They were just outside Feinster now. Her head throbbed; she grown accustomed to breathing the thinner air, and she felt light headed any woozy.

A small price to pay for her peoples' safety. Wasn't it?

"Shall we walk the remainder of the way?" asked Murtagh, unlatching Nasuada's leg restraints and hoisting her to the ground.

Nasuada promptly vomited in reply. And I thought I'd be thrilled to be back on the ground...

"Alright then," Murtagh said patting her back gently. You'll get used the environmental change - if you fly more often, that is.

Nasuada kneaded the skin on her forehead. She doubted that would ever happen.

"Let us go." The sooner they arrived in Feinster, the better.

Thorn plodded along behind the human pair for almost an hour before they entered Feinster's gates. The wrought iron clanged shut behind them. They were trapped. Or, rather, confined.

The city was merry, and aglow with lanterns and candlelight. Children were giggling and adults were bustling around trying to rein the youngsters in for the night. There was not a straw of evidence as to the violent struggle that had taken place in this very town square not so long ago. Nasuada absently wondered what had become of the battering ram. No matter. The city was now a peaceful one of the Varden.

Murtagh paused just inside the gates, sending instructions to Thorn, who immediately took off in a rush of wings.

Nasuada remembered what Thorn and his rider had been doing during the siege. Murdering Oromis and Glaedr. Technically it was Galbatorix who had done the deed, as he had possessed the both of them, but the act had caused much strife among the Varden, and terrible sorrow among the elves.

Had she buried the hatchet too soon with Murtagh? Trusting him came with a million implications.

_Nothing can be done about it now,_ she thought, as Murtagh placed a protective hand over her shoulder.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"To an inn, I suppose," Nasuada responded, eyeing a burly man, who was glowering at her.

"An inn?" The red rider grinned. "I've never stayed in one."

Nasuada was puzzled. "Never?" she confirmed.

Murtagh shook his head. "I could only afford to board in taverns with the few crowns I earned - or stole - on the run."

_Another reason not to trust Murtagh. He steals,_ Nasuada thought.

_But that was in the past - and to survive_, the other side of her thought - whether it was her more sensible side, or her irrational side, she knew not.

As they strolled through the streets, trying to leisurely and inconspicuous, Murtagh began attracting more and more stares. Perhaps it was the two of the together, with a red dragon circling high overhead.

"It's Morzan!" came the astonished whispers of those who could recognize the rider of the foresworn's heir in the dimming evening light. "He's returned!"

Nasuada still felt sick to her stomach. Her thoughts churned as fast as her stomach. What would people think? She wondered. Even when they find out it's not Morzan, but his son, would they take pity on him? Or shun him, as they would and outsider? What would they think of her? That she'd turned on them and the Varden? Or worse, would Murtagh beginning to actually reflect his father? He certainly had the right, taking into account all the hardship he'd faced during his life.

_Murtagh is different from his father, _Nasuada's rational or irrational side thought._ He's the one you want by your side; when he defeats Galbatorix, people might view him the way you do. _

While Nasuada had been lost in thought, Murtagh, obviously having no taste in inns, had passed right by several adequate places, into the shabbier area of the city.

"I just - I just need to check something first," he explained.

They wended their way through the third-rate neighborhood, the red rider in the lead. He navigated so well, Nasuada couldn't help thinking he'd been there before.

"Where are we going?" the young lady asked warily.

"I want to check on someone," Murtagh repeated vaguely.

They finally stopped in front of an old smith's shop. It had obviously been good-looking once, but had gone to rack and ruin.

"Murtagh..." Nasuada trailed off as they entered the shop. "Who lives here? And you've been to Feinster before?"

The rider didn't answer. He just looked pensive. He was probably sending a message to Thorn, Nasuada realized enviously. She'd been in constant company of two dragon riders, and the bond that they shared with their dragons seemed only to serve to make her more jealous. Mostly because she had longed for a relationship like that of her own. She'd lost her father, and the subject of her mother was not one she liked to broach. She had no immediate family.

Murtagh stuck his head into the shop's open door. "Zoë?" he called. "Zoë, are you here?"

"Who is Zoë?" Nasuada demanded as Murtagh pulled her over the threshold. He'd long since abandoned her arm, holding instead loosely by the wrist.

The red rider made his way to a staircase he evidently knew the location of.

Before she could be wrenched up behind Murtagh, Nasuada yanked her arm away.

Murtagh took no notice, though - he was determined.

Nasuada stomped ungracefully up the stairs. Living quarters about one tenth the size of her own back in Aberon (which she had wheedled Orrin into giving to her) presented themselves at a quick glance around.

"Zoë?" the rider called again. He stepped into a small bedroom. Lying in the bed was a titian haired girl, not much older than Murtagh of Nasuada. She was so still...

Nasuada's anger suddenly dissipated, leaving her feeling very awkward. Murtagh shook the girl shoulder, and then placed his gedwëy ignasia hand - his left - on the girl's.

He cringed, swore under his breath, then turned on his heel and shot down the steps.

Nasuada was so shocked that it took her a full minute to recover. She found Murtagh on the edge of the shabby district a few minutes later.

"What in the name of Morgathal is wrong?" Nasuada panted. She should have caught wind of something amiss the moment that they'd entered the shop. "She wasn't... Dead?"

"No." Murtagh drew a shaky breath. "As good a dead, though, I didn't need magic to find that out. She was poisoned. By a magic user."

It only took Nasuada a moment to figure it out. "You think Galbatorix was here? Who was Zoë?"

"I met her here, in Feinster. I'll tell you the rest later. And Galbatorix most certainly was not, here - no trail of ominous destruction."

"I'll wager that's all you'll tell me." Nasuada sighed.

Murtagh nodded. "For now."

The sick feeling resettled itself in the young lady's stomach

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**Thanks for gettin' this far (or scrolling all the way down the page to see what I said here)! I know you can take it a tiny bit further by reviewing! Your chance to ruthlessly critique me! But really, reveiws mean SO much to me. By the way, I swear to you, the next chapter is going to be from someone else's POV, like maybe Arya's again. If you review soon, you can give a suggestion! Thanks so much for reading and/or reviewing!**

**-Seastar97**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: So. Chapter 18. I know what you might be thinking: It's a day late. Two words: Spring break. Anyway, this is the LONGEST CHAPTER! Yay! And by longest chapter, I mean, the longest chapter I have EVER done. :) It had like 400 more words. Not much. But I have one person to thank: my avid reviewer, Sun Lord89! Yes, it is your fault that this chapter is longer. Give them a round of applause. Thanks to all my reviewers that I didn't call out. Reviews make my day, so I encourage you to review again! (Please). And, if you happen to be a Percy Jackson fan (or even if you're not a Percy-lover), you might want to check out my new fic! Yuppers, I have a new fic. Also, I was looking for a Betareader... PLEASE, PLEASE, if you are a Betareader, do your betareading stuff on my fic! I don't really know how they work, so... PM me, PLEASE. Hee hee. **

_**Chapter 18!**_

* * *

Nasuada pulled out her coin purse and removed seven crowns – the fee for the biggest room in the only inn with a vacancy. They hadn't anticipated the crowd that had come between the time they had passed through the town to the time they had made their way back.

Murtagh openly gaped coin satchel's size.

_That must have been what was weighing my pack down, _he realized as he replaced the burlap sack on his back. Never had he seen so much; even though he had grown up in the king's court, he and Tornac had only lived on what they needed.

_"A method of survival," _Murtagh was always reminded as a boy, whenever he requested a treat. Though he suspected that Morzan loathed him so much that he wouldn't be treated if he asked, and that he was only kept alive for Selena's sake. She would never forgive herself or Morzan for the death of their only (or so the not-yet red rider thought at the time) son.

If only his mother were still alive. Perhaps the world would not have been so harsh on Murtagh and his half-brother.

Sometimes he thought Nasuada's demeanor was the one his mother might have carried. Like the way she'd haggled downward for the rate on their room, despite her bulging sack of crowns, until the clerk would not relent to six, or the way she scolded his for leaning too far over the edge of Thorn's saddle.

"Murtagh?" Nasuada held an iron key out for the rider to take. Murmurs started at the young man's name as he reached his arm through the tangle of limbs in the foyer of the inn and felt the cold piece of metal drop into his palm.

Nasuada spoke as she fitted her key into one of the three locks on their door. "Shall we find you an alias?"

Murtagh was surprised by this proposition. "Why?"

"You heard the muttering about you in the lobby, did you not?"

Murtagh shrugged. There seemed always to be some talk of his rugged looks or his vague familiarity to some people going on around his. He'd learned to take no notice.

Nasuada wiggled the key around in the second lock impatiently. "No matter. Murtagh isn't the most common of names, and people are bound to recognize you. You are a fine replica of Morzan if there ever was one."

"You've seen my father?" Murtagh asked, steering away from the undesirable subject of finding a suitable pseudonym for himself.

"No, not in person. Jeod found a fairth of Morzan in Ellesmera when I was a child. He brought back to the Varden for my father and Brom to examine."

"Where is it?" the rider questioned in spite of himself.

"They destroyed it, of course. Not before I sneaked a good look at it, though. Hmmm…" Nasuada frowned at the second lock, then swiped Murtagh's key from his loose grip and inserted it. Murtagh numbly heard the tumblers click.

"What do you think of Nogare?"

"Nogare?"

"For an assumed name," Nasuada clarified, unlatching the last bolt "It's hideous," replied Murtagh bluntly, his mind somewhere else. If there had been a fairth of his father, he wondered, who made it? And was there a fairth of his mother somewhere, too?

"Aneles?"

"No."

"Nroht?"

"No. I quite like my name: my mother chose it," said Murtagh wistfully, as if he remembered himself as an infant, being named.

"Well Murtagh is not the most common of names," Nasuada argued.

"In Galbatorix's court it is," the red rider countered. "Or, rather, it _was_. I think my father had all the men and boys called Murtagh put to death."

"So he did care about you. What of Nazrom?"

"Fine." No more terrible naming suggestions. "Couldn't you have come up something more normal? Or do you know of a man called _Nazrom_?"

"Of course not." Nasuada allowed herself a light laugh. "It's Morzan, spelled in reverse."

Murtagh scowled, about to protest. But wasn't it the perfect pun? He was, in fact the reverse of his father, if their physical appearance was disregarded. Still Murtagh had committed so many terrible deeds…

The room's door swung inward and the two tenants stepped inside.

"Barzul…" Murtagh swore.

_What is it? _Thorn inquired. He had been told to sleep out on the crag on which he'd first landed when they had reached Feinster, despite his vehement objections.

_We were better off sleeping on your back! I'd hate to see the smaller rooms… _

Nasuada repeated Murtagh's thoughts. "Thorn's back was more spacious," she observed, "and it was free." She spun in place, taking in her surroundings.

The room was approximate size of two horse stalls – _one for each of us, _Murtagh thought – in a very cramped stable.

In the left corner of the room sat two miniscule cots, one of which Nasuada was dragging to the right side of the room. Murtagh sat one the other, thinking a child would barely fit this straw mattress.

"It looked so charming from the outside." Nasuada wrapped her arms around her legs, feeling slightly claustrophobic.

"If I've learned one thing from living on my own in the wilderness for three years," the dragon rider said, "it's that is doesn't matter where you bed for the night, it's whether or not you sleep – or wake. We're safe here; that's all that matters." And with a creak of old springs, Murtagh went out like a snuffed candle.

When he for what seemed like the twentieth time that night, daylight was just peeping though a small window in the corner that he hadn't noticed the night before.

_Good morning, _Thorn thought to his rider.

_Hmph, _Murtagh thought in response, stretching his sore back. He felt several vertebrae snap into alignment. _I suppose you slept well?_

_Like a rock, _Thorn replied, _but I didn't have a pretty companion slumbering beside me. _

Murtagh blushed. Up until now, he hadn't noticed Nasuada's slow breathing. He cast a brief glance in her direction. She looked peaceful.

_All we are to her is protection, _Murtagh reminded himself.

_I doubt that. She gave you a pet name._

_A pet name? What kind out a pet name would _Nazrom _be? It's an alias, dim bat!_

_Just be grateful she doesn't snore. The wolves out here aren't as considerate, what with all their insufferable howling. _

_And do they taste good?_

This elicited a mental chuckle from Thorn. _Aside from the teeth, yes, yes they do. I only caught one, though, before the rest of the lot began to head for the hills. It's still early; care to come hunting with me?_

_I think I will, _Murtagh replied, _but I won't be eating anything. _

_Suit yourself. _The dragon severed the connection link between the two.

The rider stood and yawned. He was still wearing the same tunic he had been when they departed from Aberon.

Murtagh fumbled around until he found a clean tunic, then he reached into his trouser pocket for his key.

After a futile attempt at trying to find the still-sleeping lady's key, he locked the middle lock with his key and stole out of the inn.

He hadn't realized that the place was called _Empire. _

_I never would have stayed here if I had… _The place was likely crawling with Galbatorix's spies. Then a thought occurred to him. _I'll bet the goons that poisoned Zo__ë__ are still here. She deserves to be avenged. _He still remembered the first time he met her…

_Murtagh was on a mission for Galbatorix: Bewitch as many people possible into the king's command. Easier said than done. He'd first been directed to enchant Eastcroft. As if there were many live-in residents. _

_It still stuck in the rider's conscience. As if Galbatorix needed anymore senseless goons to do his bidding._

_The only people who had to be especially sought out were magic users. They had to be sworn into the king's command directly._

_So the first and foremost task was to locate all the magic users. The job had already been done in Eastcroft. Now, Murtagh was in – or rather, over – Feinster. He had probed the minds of each magician, and told them not to resist. _

_This was not the first time the red rider had been sent on business to Feinster: he had come here to bind Lady Lorana to the evil king, and he knew it was a big city, chock full of spell casters _

_Murtagh directed Thorn to land outside the gates. No need to send the citizens scurrying away in fear. _

_He made his way to the spell casters one by one, starting on the left side of the city – the wealthy district. _

_It was tedious work, unlike in Eastcroft, where there had only been nine magicians all together. Feinster seemed to be teeming with them: wealthy ones, poor ones, sick ones, healthy ones, men, women, elders and young people. _

_At last he made his way to the ramshackle part of town. He was fairly certain none of the magicians had gotten away Only one had tried to run, and he chose to run to this part of town, right into Murtagh's grasp, like a mouse skittering into a dead end and being caught by a lion. Murtagh stole his resolve as easily as the rest. _

_The last spell caster was feminine, as far a Murtagh could tell. Easy._

_He stalked moodily into the blacksmith's shop that her vitality led him to. _

_"Come out and surrender," Murtagh recited for the umpteenth time that day. "His Majesty king Galbatorix is a merciful ruler, and you would do well to serve under him."_

_A girl in sooty black chainmail and thick metal-worker's gloves descended as spiraling staircase in the middle of the shop._

_Murtagh was enchanted, just as the other magic users had been by him. The girl – about his own age – was beautiful. She had wavy, titian hair, and a heart-shaped face that was reddened by the fire she had just been tending._

_"Don't hurt me," she pleaded. Murtagh couldn't imagine doing any such thing._

The rider snapped back to reality. _Thorn, _he thought, _I think I've changed my mind about hunting. _

* * *

**If you review, I'll keep making long chapters! (Bribe). But in all seriousness, I really do eat reviews up like an obese child :) And Betareaders: I'M CALLIN' YOU OUT! I want one so badly :)**

**-Seastar97**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Wow. Ahem... So, it's been more than a month since I've last updated... (sorry, times, like, infinity!) and the only thing I can retaliate with is a completly weird, short chapter. It really makes next to know sense because I forget where it was going originally (yikes) so, I don't know, I hope you like it(?). That is if anyone still wants to read this disaster. But if you do, in the good spirit of making me happy, please Review! And leave some ideas? Because I am plum out. But I'll try to have a new chapter next week on Tuesday like normal! :D**

_**Chapter 19!**_

* * *

Murtagh was poised on one of the high parapets of the inner wall of Feinster. To his surprise, no one even glanced twice at him; they had no way of telling he was Morzan's son. Then they'd all be staring shamelessly.

The illogical reason why the young rider was perched atop a treacherously high parapet was that he was searching the minds of the magic users – again. Except, this time, he was only rummaging through the minds of those who had malicious intent. He liked the parapet because it put him in full perspective of the city, and the people he was probing.

It took him a rather long time, though they were all under Galbatorix's control, so it wasn't particularly difficult.

Finally he narrowed it down to three magicians: a young girl (he had been tempted to skim over her group), and two middle aged men. The girl was barely of age – how could she live with poisoning someone so close to her own age? It hadn't been straight up murder, but it had the same affect on the mind and the soul. Murtagh knew. Of course he knew, and it took its toll on him daily. There hadn't been a day, and hour, when he hadn't thought of one of the lives he taken.

Upon further inspection, Murtagh gleaned that the girl had done the honor of administering the poison. The two men had stood guard at the door. The rider knew he should not have delved so deep into their minds, caused them such pain, but Murtagh was beyond caring now. Zoë was dead and nothing could be done about that. But it had been his fault, and he now had a score to settle within himself. If he could avenge her death, it would be a weight off his shoulders.

Murtagh, being a powerful spell caster himself, had bewitched the three to stay where they were – in a pub, all at the same table, talking over what could be done about the handmaid that was being quite defiant.

Murtagh discovered they're relationship during his probing: The girl was the daughter of one man; the other man was their butler. They all had been roped into this scheme by Galbatorix. He remembered them from his mission for the evil king. The girl was a magician in the making, but she had been placed in Galbatorix's loyalty by one of the red rider's public speeches in which he had laced his voice in magic. The two men were part of the small population whom had already been sworn into the king's allegiance. He knew their vitalities had felt strange, almost vaguely familiar, like a picture he had once seen somewhere but could not place.

As Murtagh dismounted the parapet, his dragon contacted him.

_Be careful, Little Misery._

_I will, but please, don't try to contact me again. _Keeping three magicians in full physical arrest was taking all of his strength, energy, and concentration.

Slowly, he descended the inner wall. Children laughed at his nimble acrobatics display, and Murtagh made certain to conceal his face in the early morning shadow of the enormous barricade.

If anyone saw Morzan's son, he took no notice, as he was focused on his task: reaching the pub and disposing of the trio of perpetrators.

When he at last reached the pub, people were flocked around the magicians' table, roughly shaking them, slapping them across their blank faces. Onlookers kept watch at a slight distance, wondering when the three were going to regain their sanity.

"I hollered at them to leave," a man wearing an apron frantically explained to one of the king's men, "they had been sitting here so long. But when they said nothing, I came over to scold them and shoo them away. Then I noticed they were hardly even blinking! I think they're in some kind of trance."

Murtagh didn't even bother endeavoring to plow his way through the throng of people. Standing on the edge of the crowd, he instructed: _Don't say anything. _Even Murtagh's mental voice was pitiless and menacing. _Just run. _

It took a few moments for the spell casters to realize that voluntary control of their limbs had returned to them. When they did, they _ran._

The red rider took off after them, lithe and speedy as an elf with his enhanced dragon rider's abilities, looking quite the hero when, in fact, he was anything but.

Galbatorix's men followed, but without horses, elven strength, or magic, their attempts at overtaking the group were futile.

The magic users cast wards around themselves and used spells to make the feet quick. Murtagh considered exhausting their wards by battering at them, and effectively draining their energy as well, then simply killing them, but such a grim fate somehow seemed… inappropriate. They must have at least some repentance for what they'd done.

The girl seemed to know where she was going, and the men were following. The chase was weakening Murtagh, though, and soon he was forced to rally into a dead-end alley.

_"Why. Did. You. Kill. Her?" _Murtagh snarled.

Three terrified looks were the only response.

_"Don't run, _eld jeirda abr hjarta."

The girl magician went rigid. Something snapped in Murtagh's mind that made him lose concentration long enough for the two men to show their cowardice and run away. But the girl stood stick-straight, her eyes glazed over.

Cautiously, Murtagh released his hold on the girls mind. Her posture remained. Slowly, Murtagh approached, circling the young magician. His anger had almost dissipated. Almost.

"Murtagh," the girl said in a cold and almost familiar voice.

"M… Meriam?"

The girl – Meriam – nodded.

"You killed Zoë?"

"She deserved it," Meriam snarled, "the stealing slattern."

"What?" Meriam proceeded to tell a tale she apparently considered unspeakably scandalous in which Zoë went to her man-servant and seduced him into leaving Meriam.

"She was jealous! Jealous of all that my father provided me with!" Murtagh found this incredibly petty.

"You killed her – because of that?"

Meriam nodded as if it were perfectly just.

"_Deyja," _Murtagh uttered in disgust, and Meriam dropped dead. Back to his old ways. He really was a chip off the old block.

Thorn met Murtagh by the parapet his rider was standing on again.

_Why did you kill her? _Thorn asked. He didn't reproach his rider for the choice made.

_I don't know – she deserved it, _was Murtagh's sharp reply.

_And her true name? Were you trying to use it against her?_

_No. I think I knew it because if the situation was reversed, I would want her to kill me. _

The inn was bustling with activity when Murtagh returned. It was almost noontime, and the sun was high overhead. It was a happy scene – until he caught sight of Nasuada.

She was standing in one corner of the foyer, people crowded around her, bombarding her with questions, to the maiden's obvious annoyance, and she was tapping her foot.

Murtagh was making a beeline for the staircase up to the lodger's rooms was Nasuada grabbed him by the wrist. Disappointment dominated by fear showed in her eyes. Her beautiful eyes.

"Why did you do it?" She asked, her voice trembling.

Murtagh lowered his eyes. "I she deserved it."

Na

* * *

suada's grip went slack. "All of Feinster is in an uproar. I can't believe you." She shook her head disdainfully. "We're going to see Lady Lorana when this mess calms down." And she walked away, scowling, leaving Murtagh with a guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

**Ah! That bar up there won't go away! Sorry! Anyway, I think short and weird is the appropriate description for this chapter and myself. Don't forget to click that little button that says leave a review! And have a great week everyone! Also, about my other fic, you might wanna check 'em out if you have the same weird taste in books as I do! I'm waiting for a betareading reply on the next chapter of The Secret Life, but I might just publish it because it is taking forEVER for this person to get back to me! Anyway, thanks for reading!**

**-Seastar97 3**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Hi. Well, this took a bit longer than originally intended, but that was only becuase I GOT A BETAREADER! Writer of the North! You're AWESOME! And about the chapter "Unhappiness"... That was craziness. Sorry. But I liked the reaction that I got ;) LOL, I'd also like to thank Restrained Freedom. You're efforts to keep this fic moving have not gone unnoticed! Award for awesomeness. I... don't really have anything else to say, so... :)**

_**CHAPTER 20!**_

* * *

When Nasuada woke, the first thing she noticed was the absence of Murtagh's calm breathing. It had been the only sound in the depth of the night, after the tavern had been closed up down stairs.  
As Nasuada sat up, sunlight glinted off the small shaving mirror opposite the window, and rebounded into her eyes. She shielded them and glanced again around the tiny room. She hadn't noticed the little mirror or window last night on account of her sleep deprivation – Thorn's back just was not a proper bed by any standards. Nor had she noticed the scrap of paper tacked to the door. On second thought, that hadn't been there before.  
Nasuada slid off of her cot and tore the note off its nail. It read:

Lady Nasuada,  
Better accommodations shall be provided for you in Governess Lorana's home. Please arrive as quickly as possible.  
- Aden

Nasuada frowned, wondering if Murtagh, being the son of the most hated member of the Forsworn as he was, would be admitted.  
She herself was not quite sure about the red rider's full character, or intentions, but she had an unshakable trusting attitude toward Murtagh that could not be changed even when she tried. He didn't seem to have any malicious intentions of his own, though – only those that Galbatorix had bound him to do.  
It was not her intention to mill around all day, so Nasuada combed her hair, dressed in a satiny blue dress, and set out.  
She cast only a brief glance about the inn's foyer – a brief, annoyed glance. Murtagh had been her protection in Feinster, and her had gone and left her. She didn't have the good sense to be angry at the time, though. Hopefully Murtagh had enough good wit in him to keep a low profile.  
As Nasuada strode gracefully out of the inn, she attracted surprised stares. Men bowed, and ladies curtsied, questioning her about the goings-on within the Varden, and her plan to march on Belatona.  
She politely ignored all of them, though a few inquiries could be met with snappy retorts. Nasuada was on her way to Feinster's common's place where she was to meet her comrade, and a loyal friend to the Varden, Asher.  
Asher was the Varden's strategist. Nasuada had grown up with him. She never seemed to fit in with the other children, but she could always count on Asher when she needed a friend. They seemed like an unlikely pair, him with his pasty white skin, and she so dark, but the fact that Asher could look past this was the reason why Nasuada had taken a liking to him, and still did.  
Asher, as promised, was waiting outside his father's bakery, and greeted Nasuada with open arms.  
"How nice to see you," Nasuada murmured into his ear. People were pointing, and shoving to get a better view.  
"You as well." Asher broke the embrace, grinning broadly. "Jörmundur sent word that you were on your way. He wouldn't say why, but the whole of Feinster is buzzing about it."  
Nasuada heaved a sigh. "I know." She linked her arm though Asher's and he led her inside.

The bakery was humming with activity: Children were nibbling on sweets of all sorts; parents were hastily rummaging through their pockets for an extra crown to treat themselves; knots of people were gathered in corners, gossiping. No doubt rumors about her and Asher would be circulating within the day.  
The savory smells wafting through the pastry shop were enticing, but Asher, with a wave at a man who Nasuada figured to be his father, led her up an inconspicuous staircase behind the counter.  
A large flat was situated atop the bakery which Asher's father owned. Nasuada found herself being directed to what was probably the largest room in the flat.  
A spacious chamber met her eyes as she stepped in and looked around in awe. Who would have thought that this could sit on top of a confectionery? An entire room, devoted to war tactics, and battle plans.  
Asher smiled at Nasuada's wonder. "My mother allowed me to renovate this room... just before she died."  
Nasuada's spirits fell. "You're mother died?" She remembered Stella. Her delicious tarts had earned a special place in Nasuada's childhood recollections. "I'm so sorry." The memories of her own mother were cloudy in her mind. She couldn't understand how Asher could smile when his were still fresh.  
"It's alright," Asher replied softly.  
"How did it happen?"  
"She had been ill for a while. The sickness finally overtook her last year. Now to business." Asher strode over to a table, whose area was mainly dominated by a map of Alagaësia, and a few errant pushpins which the young man immediately snatched up.  
Impaling one pin into the word "Belatona," he asked, "By what means do you intend to overtake Belatona?"  
Nasuada seated herself in the chair Asher had pulled from beneath the table for her. "The same way we over took this city, I suppose. Will there be a problem? I know we're short on cavalry…"  
Asher passed a hand over his face. "It's a matter of finances at this point," he replied, his eyes still closed. "You can do anything – as long as you have right amount of crowns."  
Nasuada frowned. Crowns. The only thing the Varden was short on. That, and morale.  
"Just tell me what must be done," the lady said after a long silence. "I'll see what we can do."  
"Alright," Asher began. "You're plan is to march on Belatona, correct? As if they haven't foreseen this – the city is being guarded day and night, and their barricades are much stronger than Feinster's were." He went on to say that in order to breach Belatona, the magical aspects of their barriers would have to be removed, or at least significantly weakened. This would take more power than Eragon, his guard of the twelve elfish spell casters, and all the magicians and sorcerers the Varden could muster. "The strength of one other rider would be sufficient."  
It was then that Nasuada smiled. One other rider – something she had at her disposal. "That can be arranged," she said.  
Asher eyed her questioningly, but no further information was forthcoming, so he carried on. "Your and King Orrin's troops will assemble just at the northern mouth of Leona Lake, and ride the current down to Belatona."  
King Orrin, another problem. "I shall inform Orrin of these plans when I return to Aberon?"  
"No need," Asher responded, "it sounds like he's just arrived."  
The quick patter of boots being stomped matched the rate of Nasuada's pounding heart. Orrin? Here? Now? In Feinster?  
A man's voice floated upstairs and through the small corridor. "Right up there, second door on the right."  
Several pairs of feet trotted up the stairs, followed by several more. The doorknob turned…

* * *

**Well, some of the paragraphs didn't get seperated correctly, I don't have the energy to deal with that, since it's 12 at night... Yeah. I really wanted to get this chapter out. Also, I'm updating The Secret Life tomorrow afternoon, if you've taken an intrest in that. I've had that chapter ready FORever, but unfortunately I haven't had the beta-luck I've had with story. THE END. I'll have the next chapter ready sometime next week possibly... I hope you like the work my Beta did! BEFORE YOU REVIEW (which I am hoping _to God_ that you do, or I will verrrryyyy sad/mad) I had a good reason why Murtagh was allowed to like, wander around Feinster without Nasuada getting her panties in a knot - I just can't remeber that reason at this moment... so spare me those comments, LOL. And, REVIEW, please!**

**-Seastar97**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Hiya! Let's just get right into it... I don't really know what happened with this last chapter, what with Nasuada being in the inn and Murtagh seeing her there… So I improvised! It all turned out OK :) Moving on, my belief is that King Orrin is an annoying butthead (ignore my childish language), therefore, I shall proceed to make him act like an annoying butthead. Orrin can kiss Murtagh's ass. ANYWAY, all is set right in this chapter! Not really, but it's a start. And is it just me, or does Nasuada seem very OOC whenever she opens her mouth?I know what you're thinking: Personal battle-planner? I was short on ideas, okay? Anyway, school's out for me, so start expecting more updates! As another side note, I guess this chapter is backtracking… that was not my original intention, but things just played out really well that way – not that most of this chapter makes sense… I know, Nasuada is acting like a HUGEGANTIC baby, but I wrote this like two weeks ago, and I can't get back into the groove, so I'll let it slide – just this last time. If you read the whole chapter, you'll see a proposal at the bottom! :) **

**_CHAPTER 21!_**

* * *

Nasuada's heart leapt into her throat as the door noiselessly swung inward. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw King Orrin's face appear in the doorway. He looked around before he stepped over the threshold. Nasuada lowered her eyes. The last time she remembered speaking to the king, she had been ordering him to call off his guards.

"Asher Gordonson, I presume." Orrin's voice was smooth and impassive.  
Nasuada glanced up at Orrin. He was fixing her with a hard stare, even as addressing Asher. Nasuada shifted her eyes to Asher. If he was nervous, he didn't show it, nodding calmly. Nasuada envied his composure.  
Someone cleared his throat in the corner of the room. Nasuada turned her head; it was Jörmundur and the Nighthawks. At least Orrin couldn't hurt her.

Asher rose and shook the king's hand. "Your majesty," he said, evenly returning Orrin's appraising gaze. "We were discussing our involvement in the Battle of Belatona just as you arrived. Would you like us to continue?"  
Orrin did not seem to appreciate the smug look which Asher was directing at him, but he agreed. "Resume," he permitted the younger man, once again fixated his cold stare on the young lady.

So Asher went on, Orrin making a comment here and there, Jörmundur making note of a few interesting points. All the while, he kept his eyes glued to Nasuada. His expression was completely unreadable. Contempt, disappointment, admiration; they were all there, yet, simultaneously not there.

"Of course, there is always room to improvise, if things go amiss. And I haven't factored in the whispered rumors of the Red Rider being on out side now…" Nasuada's palms were sweating profusely when Asher finally ceased speaking. She hadn't even been listening to half the plan, but Jörmundur stood and said, "Very good, boy," so she figured it must have been somewhat reasonable.

"I do my best," Asher replied. "Especially in a lady's presence." He cast a bashful grin in Nasuada's direction.  
Surda's king smiled amiably. "You have a talent for war tactics, Asher. Surda appreciates your generous sharing of knowledge. You match the abilities of my personal strategist, even top them. Hopefully, you will never be needed again, though. A peaceful period has yet to come."

"As long as war rears its ugly head, I'll be a loyal service to you, sire."

Orrin nodded. "I'll take my leave now. Come along Jörmundur." The Nighthawks clomped down the stairs as well.  
"That king, I tell you." Asher shook his fist in the direction of the stairway. He's so cocky and condescending, and all because he's royalty." Nasuada was startled by this sudden outburst; Asher had appeared so very polite toward Orrin.

"He's nothing like you," Asher added.

Nasuada blushed, examining her shoes. "Was he really being so impolite?"

Asher snorted. "Didn't you hear?" Nasuada shook her head. "No matter," Asher continued softly. "You're nothing like him. No one would ever guess that you were royalty." He took a step toward her.

Nasuada in turn took a step back. "I'm not royalty…" Her heart was threatening to burst out of her chest. All at once she recalled all their childhood memories, how they had been playmates when they were young, and how they'd been such wonderful friends when they were older, and shared everything… and she fled the room. She wanted nothing less than to shatter the relationship they had shared for so long.

Breathing hard, but trying not to betray her emotions, Nasuada joined Orrin, Jörmundur, and the Nighthawks outside the noisy bakery. The king threw his arms around her. Nasuada barely prevented herself from gagging.  
"Orrin," she tried to say gently. Her head was pounding. First Asher. Now Orrin. And what of Murtagh? "People are staring…"

Jörmundur was standing by awkwardly. "We thought Murtagh might've… done something to you. We immediately regretted sending him away with you."

"That bastard hasn't hurt you?" Orrin asked disdainfully.

Nasuada shook her head. "No." She spotted something in an upper-floor window. Asher's white-blonde head. She put her head in her hands.

"Whatever is wrong, my dear?" Orrin asked, waving the Nighthawks away.  
"I… I… Let's go, shall we?"

Orrin led her to where three horses were reined. "Battle-Storm." The lady gently stroked her stallion's muzzle.  
"Where are you staying?" Orrin asked as he mounted his horse.

"A small inn," Nasuada replied. Her thoughts were racing. If only she could have a moment alone, to sort out her mangled emotions. Suddenly, an eruption of shouts broke out in nearby pub, two men, and a girl – followed by Murtagh – spilling out, and setting off at a breakneck pace achievable by only magicians.

In_ a completely futile attempt at keeping a low profile,_ Nasuada added to herself.

"Was that -?" Orrin looked dumbfounded.

An hour later, Murtagh sauntered into the Empire inn, wearing a somber frown. Word of what had happened was spreading fast, and would-be tenants began exiting the inn. Nasuada was standing in a somewhat secluded corner, but that wasn't preventing people from bombarding her with questions of innumerable topics. She tapped her foot impatiently.

Murtagh obviously had no intention of being confronted, so Nasuada elbowed her way through the crowd until she reached him. She grabbed his wrist, despite her apprehension of retaliation. Murtagh had just killed someone; what if didn't stop at one? But once again, the implacable sense of trust overrode her fear.  
Tears were pricking Nasuada's eyes, threatening to brim spill over the brim. "Why did you do it?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Murtagh examined the floorboards. "I… I thought she deserved it."

Nasuada dropped the rider's wrist. She'd been anticipating a different, more just response. Something like, "She was Galbatorix's spy." But no, _"I thought she deserved it."_

"All of Feinster is in an uproar." Nasuada shook her head incredulously. "I can't believe you. We'll see to Lady Lorana when this whole mess is sorted out."She stalked away, scowling to herself.

Murtagh started after her. "I'm sorry!" He knocked an old woman aside to keep pace with the lady. "What I did was wrong, and I'm sorry!"

Nasuada kept walking, past Orrin, Jörmundur – the king started after her, but Jörmundur, thankfully, put a firm hand on his shoulder - the Nighthawks, Battle-Storm, anxious citizens questioning her about the events of the past hour. She strode straight through the gate distinguishing the inner part of the city from the outer. She walked right to the edge of the walls, outside of which were wild beasts and untamed Urgals, and bandits – and sat down.

Just as the tears began running down her cheeks, Murtagh appeared, his footfalls stirring up miniature dust storms, angry shouts in his wake.  
"I had to shake half a dozen of them," he explained, panting. "They were getting pretty angry – coming after me with pitchforks."

Nasuada tried to cover her face, but she was too late. Murtagh fell silent and seated himself beside her.  
"I apologize." Murtagh said, and gently touched her arm.

Nasuada sniffed delicately. _Breaking down like this isn't an option_, she told herself. _My people need me. There's a way to think this over rationally. _But when she thought of all the duties that had been dropped on her shoulders, the sobs started again.

_Too much, this is too much_. She thought about Orrin – how much hated him. Maybe not him, but the way he treated people. And Asher hadn't even been in the picture until an hour ago, but she didn't know how she felt about him, either. And then there was the young man sitting next to her, his arm resting affectionately on her shoulders. She didn't know how she felt about him at all.

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**Well. I was thinking about holding a contest: Everyone who reviews can pick a number 1-20, and whoever is closest gets a prize! Yay! You'll get a PM from me if you win. I won't complain if you only leave a number in your review, but I'd really like some nice comments... or mean comments, depending on which you prefer, both are fine. And speaking of nice comments, Restrained Freedom, Totally Random Solembum, and Unamuni are like, awesome at leaving them! THANK YOU! And of course, I want to thank my betareader for helping this chapter to make a little bit more sense :)**

**-seastar**


	22. Chapter 22

**Shoutout to Sa**_**n**_**ctuaria for giving me the idea for Thorn's POV! Now, I want ALL OF YOU to go read her stories. NOW. Seriously, she rocks. :D**

**A/N: **_**Wow. **_**I feel like I'm writing a completely different story than I was when I first started writing in December. It's kind of interesting to just let the plot roll out like that. Anyway, I've been straying away from the "Plan" (Which is kind of just a vague outline of something) but I intend to get the ball rolling in this chapter. I'd also like to mention, I lied :) I thought I was done with Flattery, to be honest, but I decided to forge on with chapter. I hope you're not mad. The next chapter might actually be Eragon's POV. I want to go back to the Varden for as long as I can stand. Yeah. *Sigh* sometimes I feel like I'm just pouring my thoughts out to like one person. Please review. Feel my pain. Take pity and review? Enough ranting. **

**Chapter 22!**

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Thorn waited obediently beyond the gates of Feinster, awaiting instructions from his rider. He watched in Murtagh's mind as his hunting scene played out: From the time he had begun to pursue them, to the time that he had struck his prey down.

Now he was on the run – again. Murtagh did not realize his full potential; his life had been tainted by evil, but now that he had finally broken away, did he choose what was right? No. What good were all the vows and oaths he had made in captivity then?

_Why did you kill her? _Thorn inquired.

_I don't know – she deserved it. _

_And her true name? Did you mean to use it against her?_

_No. I think I killed because, if the situation was reversed, I would want her to kill me. _

_Because of Zoë, _Thorn thought to himself. _What she did was done, Little Misery, _Thorn told Murtagh. _You needn't have interfered with fate. _

Murtagh scoffed. _Zoë deserved to be avenged. Or have you forgotten the kindness she showed us? _

_Think about what Zoë would have wanted, _Thorn urged.

_I know this is what she would have wanted. _

_That, Little Misery, is where you are wrong. _Thorn felt the connection between dragon and rider fade without a response.

Murtagh was brave and cunning, and, though it was sometimes hard to admit, gallant, but so proud. And stubborn as a bull.

There were, Thorn decided, only two people in the whole of Alagaësia that could make Murtagh see sense – or should he say _beings_: Himself, and the ebony-skinned Varden leader Nasuada. Perhaps the only two beings in Alagaësia that loved him.

Then there were blue-eyes-bright-scales Saphira and her rider, two-legged-pointed ears Eragon. If the two riders shared a mother, what did that mean for Thorn and Saphira, who had engaged in battle so many times? Thorn was not as eager to forgive and forget as Murtagh was. As skeptical as his partner's façade was, Thorn knew that Murtagh trusted Eragon. To a certain extent.

But, as a dragon, Thorn was much more wary of the blue pair. It was clear that, if their race was to survive, the riders were going to have to reunite. That was how Galbatorix had persuaded him to see it. It was true, even if the king was demented. But unfortunately Eragon and Saphira knew that Galbatorix wished for the riders to unite again, and, as part of the Varden, were naturally opposed to anything Galbatorix proposed.

Thorn felt a conscience nudging at his own. _Murtagh, _he began, _I advise that you repent for what you've done or there will be trouble. _

_Wise words, _I little voice cooed. It was not Murtagh's.

_I advise _you, _young dragon, to keep to yourself, unless you wish to be discovered. _Thorn was surprised the little dragon in the green egg was bothering to speak to him; they hadn't conversed in a long while, as the vain egg considered itself – or herself -

_What else is there to do, cooped up in this egg? I want to spread my wings. _

_You'd have to hatch first, _Thorn reminded him.

_I'll hatch here and now, then, _the little dragon resolved.

_You won't live long, _Thorn predicted, _a wild dragon won't do anyone much good, given our current situation. _

The little dragon in the green egg gave a mental scoff. _As if I'm obligated to help your cause. _

_It's your life or our cause, _Thorn remarked, and abolished the connection between them before the ignorant egg had the satisfaction of doing so.

Sometimes Thorn regretted the spark of magic he had inadvertently put to use, rescuing the last dragon egg. Not even Murtagh knew that his own dragon was in possession of the emerald egg.

Thorn had to admit to himself, he had done an excellent job of hiding the egg thus far: In his mouth, when he wasn't eating, and depositing it in saddlebags when Murtagh was distracted.

The heat was becoming unbearable when Thorn decided to contact Murtagh again, tired of brooding upon life.

_Murtagh? _Looking though his eyes, Thorn examined Murtagh surroundings. His back was braced against a high wall, locked grate to his left. A parapet was looming overhead, shrouding Murtagh and another figure in shadow. The two conversed quietly.

_Yes? _Murtagh replied, sounding irritated.

_It may be cool where you are, but it's simmering up here. _

_I'm negotiating a blameless retreat from Feinster. Find some shade under a tree. _

_A blameless retreat? _Thorn repeated. _For something you are entirely accountable for?_

_Keep your nose out of human affairs, _came Murtagh's brazen reply, and he resumed speaking to the person beside him.

Thorn leapt from the outcropping of rock where he had been perched for the past few hours, and with a powerful wing stroke, soared into the clouds. Murtagh detested flying through the wet thunderheads that were gathering, so Thorn took the opportunity now while Murtagh was ocuppied.

Shaking his scales of the water they had collected, Thorn located a tree under which he could rest. The saddlebags felt leaden, now that the contents were soaked; he would have to get Murtagh to dry them with a spell later, if the sun didn't do the job.

Though it was uncomfortable hot under the leaves of the gigantic evergreen, Thorn dozed off until a voice snapped him awake. One could deal with the sounds of sand and stones being disturbed in the wind, but Thorn could not stand having a permanent fixture in his head.

_Come on, you lazy dragon, _Murtagh teased cheerfully. _Are you awake?_

_Yes, but I'd rather not be. _A sheen of tiny droplets covered the red dragon's scales. The evergreen was serving as a good umbrella; the thunderheads were letting loose a downpour that raged just beyond the confines of massive tree's needles and branches.

_What is it you want? _Thorn asked grumpily.

_To inform you. Nasuada has decided to appoint a governor to replace Lady Lorana. _

_Who is it? You?_

_No. His name is – Ashley, or something. Anyway, Nasuada struck a deal with him, and he's agreed to let us go free, as Meriam was working for Galbatorix. _

_You ought to be killed on sight, yet you manage to get off without penalty._

_Well, Nasuada had to pull a few strings, _Murtagh grumbled. He sounded unhappy.

_What were the conditions?_

_She had to kiss Ashley! _Murtagh seethed.

_Terrible. _Petty two-legs. _When are we retuning to the Varden?_

_Soon. Business here is done._

_Wonderful. May I return to my nap? I think I had better store my energy for the flight back. _

_Good idea. _

Thorn settled against his tree again.

The green dragon in the egg made a disdainful noise in Thorn's head. _Foolish human._

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**That's it! :) I hope you liked it! Thanks to my beta reader Writer of the North for awesomeness! One more thing, before I forget: if you'll click on the chapter scroll thingy, you will see that chapter 4 one space above this chapter. That is because I got the great idea of deleting the author's note chapter :/ I guess the author's note went away, but so did chapter 4. I'll get everything sorted out, though. THANKS FOR READING! I've been getting a bunch of story alert emails, so I'd **_**love **_**some reviews, too! And I started the nest chapter; it should be ready... soon. XD. **

**Until next time, my lovely readers. **

**-Seastar **


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Hey, guys. I know this chapter is really short. :/ oh well. I started a new Hunger Games story. I'm like obsessed with working on it :). I'm really excited. I went to the bookstore today (Like you care XD) and I saw all the Inheritance books in the front. It was cool. So I bought like two hundred books. :). ANYway, I'm going on vacation, so I can't update for three weeks. I'll work on my stories though, while I'm away. Now read! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Inheritance Cycle, but you might have thought I did because I haven't put the disclaimer in for like ten chapters.**

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**Chapter 23!**

Eragon paced the interior of her tent, staring intently at the floor, as if it held all the answers he sought. It had only been a day Nasuada had left with Murtagh for Feinster. Most likely they hadn't even arrived in the city yet.

Eragon still did not know what to think of his elder brother. Part of him almost wished that Murtagh would reveal his sinister intentions. But he _had _sworn in the ancient language that he was not in league with Galbatorix – at the time. Murtagh could very well have renounced Galbatorix. But he also may have joined forces with him once again.

Perhaps his half-brother really had repented and changed for the better, but Galbatorix could still be in control – he had bound Murtagh in a way that, as far as Eragon knew, was irreversible.

And he worried about Nasuada, his liege lord, friend, comrade and confidante. It was for her sake that he hoped Murtagh stayed sane for the duration of their excursion to Feinster at least.

He berated himself for not accompanying them, or even insisting that the Nighthawks come along. Worst-case scenarios plagued Eragon the previous night, so he had settled himself by placing wards around Nasuada. He had asked Saphira if she had gleaned anything from Thorn's mind, but the dragon had been weary at the time. As far as could be told, Thorn was completely innocent, but a little consciousness had been nagging at her mind. Eragon had dismissed it as an unfortunate pig which had been subject to an experiment of Angela's, but now he dwelled on it. Could it have been an eldunari? If so, what was Murtagh planning to do with it? What was the point of hiding the dragon heart-of-hearts on Thorn? Murtagh had turned the eldunarya that he'd admitted to having over to Eragon yesterday.

The glittering stones felt as if they had been sitting in the sun when Eragon drew them from a bag which had been underneath his cot, taking care not to touch them in the process. They could not be mistaken as nonliving.

One stone was iridescent purple; the other was an earthy burgundy. Glaedr's eldunari rolled out last of all. Eragon had been tempted many times to enlist Glaedr's help or advice, but he figured that the dragon was still wallowing in grief. It was understandable – he couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like to loose Saphira.

But the dragons in these eldunari were perhaps centuries old – he could call on these sagely beings for help.

Tentatively, Eragon laid a finger on the reddish stone. Emotions coursed through him – sadness, loneliness, loneliness like he's never imagined possible. Yet, there was also a sense of peace.

_Hello? _Eragon said, tentatively directing the thought in the direction of the eldunari.

_Who, after so long, is disturbing my misery?_

_My name is Eragon. Alagaësia is in great peril. A magician named Galbatorix is –_

_Must all two-legs unload all of their burdens on mighty dragons? What interest have I in human affairs? _

_You don't understand. I am a dragon rider, one of the last, and your kind is gravely endangered. Your wisdom is much needed. _

_A dragon rider. How wonderful. It was a dragon rider who last seized my eldunari and drained me of my vitality. I care not about the fate of Alagaësia; I care not if my kind is destroyed. I care not if my eldunari is destroyed, for I have nothing to live for. I've served my usefulness, and my rider had plunged into the void long ago. Now leave me be, _Eragon.

Though Eragon was only mildly surprised by the dragon's cynicism, he was taken a bit aback by it, nonetheless.

He was reluctant to touch the next eldunari, but still he pressed a finger to it and let a swirl of emotion overtake him.

_Who calls upon my wisdom? _The dragon inquired. Its voice had an almost feminine quality, like Saphira's opposed to Glaedr's.

_It is I, Eragon Shadeslayer, _Eragon replied.

_Shadeslayer? Sounds promising, _the dragon remarked. _I am Empress. My rider was Ava. She passed into the void long ago. I pine for her… It's been so long since another has sought my knowledge. _

_A sagely dragon's knowledge would serve Alagaësia well right now. There is an evil magician name Galbatorix ravaging the land by means of powerful magic. No one can seem to oppose him. In order to oppose him in war – _

_War, _the dragon said dramatically. _I have no desire to be used as a weapon of battle. Leave me Eragon Shadeslayer, for I shall not aid you in opposing your enemies. _

Eragon groaned. Why were all dragons so obstinate? He supposed he should have expected it, but that put him no closer to defeating Galbatorix or recovering the last dragon egg.

The sound of wing fluttering and a heavy landing alerted Eragon that Saphira had just landed outside. That and the screams of terror.

_How many times do have to tell you land elsewhere? _Eragon scolded.

_Sorry, _Saphira replied, unrepentant. She grinned toothily.

Eragon caught a whiff of her breath and almost fainted. _You need your teeth cleaned! _He gagged and ducked into his tent to retrieve the herb Angela had given him for his dragon's breath once.

Saphira eyed it distastefully when Eragon held it in front of her jaws. _You expect me to eat _that?

_Come on, _Eragon urged. _It's tastes good, see? _He pooped a leaf in his mouth and began to chew. The herb was minty, with a bit of tang. It was the after-taste that made him spit the leaf out.

_Tastes like tar, _he thought disgustedly, then, realizing this wasn't very encouraging added, _in a good way. _

_Good try, _Saphira said, snapping the sprig of herbs from Eragon's hand. _Luckily, I don't require much persuading. _

The young boy Jarsha appeared just then, presumably bearing a message.

Saphira growled in greeting. _Your breath really does smell much better now, _Eragon noted.

"Hello, Jarsha," Eragon said, smiling amiably at the boy.

Jarsha nodded a hello. "King Orrin wishes to speak with you. He's up at the red pavilion."

"Thank you," said Eragon, tossing the boy a crown.

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**There. It's done :) subscribe and review, please!(x1,000,000). Come on, you know you want to! I think the next chapter is going to be from Orrin's POV. Just so you know, I don't think I'll be going back to Murtagh or Nasuada for a while.**

**Thanks to Writer of the North for beta-ing for me! Award for being awesome. I have a bunch of new reviewers I want to thank. I'm beyond happy. Special thanks to Restrined Freedom, just for being cool and reviewing every single chapter! **

**Also, I had chapter 4 last on the chapter list because something really weird happened... Well, I fixed that and removed the author's notes too. **

**Bye/Chao/Read my next chapter/Peace**

**-Seastar**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Hi, guys. I'm kind of at a mental block right now. And I feel really bad about publishing this chapter. It's just, this story isn't FUNNY at ALL. I can't even work a tiny bit of humor in without making the characters completely OOC :(. Bunch of killjoys. Excuse this dark mood, please. So, I appologize ahead of time for anything that's really stupid. UGH. Lolz, I think I was feeling angry when I wrote this. ANYway... I figured out why this story is so stupid! EPIPHANY :) *Sigh***

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**Chapter 24**

_I wonder what King Orrin wants_, Eragon mused.

_So do I,_ Saphira agreed. _We haven't pledged allegiance to him, only the Varden, so I'm assuming it's not an order..._

_Perhaps it's just a request._

Saphira growled in agreement.

Three guards were posted outside the red pavilion, though they immediately stepped aside when Eragon came into view, saying, "Enter, Shadeslayer."

Eragon glanced around the interior of the structure. The evident destruction Saphira had caused while attempting to speak to Eragon through Nasuada's scrying mirror was cleared, though several lamps were missing. A few pieces of furniture had been shoved to the side to accommodate ten or so mismatched chairs.

King Orrin was perched upon the high-backed chair that Nasuada would otherwise occupy. "Greetings, Argetlam," he said as Eragon entered the tent. Orrin gestured to a chair at his right. "Sit, won't you? I assume your dragon will be able to take part in our conversation through you?" There was no friendly preamble.

"I am able to relay her comments and queries, yes," said Eragon warily. _Not meaning to say I will... _

"Good," Orrin said brusquely.

"If I may ask, why have you summoned us? That is, Saphira and I?"

A man, whom Eragon recalled as being part of the Council of Elders, strode into a tent and took a seat. "I've called a meeting of my advisors and the Varden's Council of Elders," Orrin replied, stone-faced.

"Well, seeing as how I am part of neither association…" Eragon began, trying to keep annoyance from coloring his tone.

"Oh, I think you'll be grateful that I've called you here, Shur'tugal," the King cut off. "Some changes will be taking place at this meeting which I'm sure you want to witness."

_Changes? _Eragon thought to Saphira. _What can he possibly mean? _

_I'd not take his words to heart; what can he do with Nasuada absent? _Saphira replied.

_He doesn't know that yet! I don't think I want to be within range when that conniption happens…_

_I've never seen a conniption. It ought to be interesting. _

Eragon watched silently with growing guilt and apprehension as the other Council elders flied in along with the members of Orrin cabinet. Perhaps he should stand now, admit to everyone that Nasuada was gone, and save everyone the trouble.

The king stood as the third to last chair was filled. "Jarsha!" he barked and the boy came scurrying in. "Did I not tell you to fetch Lady Nasuada?"

"You did," the boy said, trembling.

"Then where is she?" Orrin seethed.

"She was not in her quarters, nor here, nor in the castle, so I found Jörmundur, and he promised she would accompany him here," Jarsha explained in a squeaky voice.

"Where is -?" Just then, Jörmundur strode in wearing a grim expression.

"Speak, man!" Orrin commanded, obviously not in full control of his emotions.

Jörmundur scowled. "It is Lady Nasuada – she is missing."

"I'm not interested in the fact that she's missing, I'm interested in finding her!"

"I would enlist the help of the rest of the Nighthawks – but they are missing as well."

Orrin was nearly hopping with rage when Eragon decided to confess.

"I know where Lady Nasuada had gone."

The tense chatter that had built up ceased. "Where?" Jörmundur inquired.

"I thought she would have at least told you. She's left for Feinster – with Murtagh and Thorn."

If it seemed like Orrin had achieved a conniption before, it was nothing compared to now. "MURTAGH AND THORN?" Jarsha fled the tent in terror. "AND YOU KNEW ABOUT THIS, RIDER?"

Though Eragon was surely ten times stronger than the King of Surda, Orrin's intense fury made him want to cower under a table. No way could he have guessed the man who fought so nobly in their battle against the men who felt no pain was the one who stood before him now. "Yes…" he answered unsteadily.

"FORTY LASHES! Just like his COUSIN!"

"Orrin," a soft voice behind the king said. A delicate hand gripped his arm. He tried to shake it off. "Orrin Borreomeo."

"WHAT?"

"Control your anger."

An expression of calm washed over Orrin's face and he sat. "No matter," he said serenely. "Let's begin, if you will have a seat, Jörmundur." Jormundur obliged without question. "I've called you here today to abolish the Council of Elders as well as my cabinet."

Eragon's jaw dropped. Everyone stared. "Have you and Nasuada come to an agreement, your Highness?"

"I don't think it matters. Almost every single person I have called here is corrupt, save you, Eragon, Jörmundur, and a select few. The rest have lost sight of our ultimate goal: Eradicating Galbatorix and his influence from Alagaësia.

"Those who have let the prospect of power, who have been manipulating things so that they can end on top – your term serving is over." All this was said with a pleasant smile, not a trace of malice. "You will be assigned new work within the week. Consider your statuses terminated."

Those guilty of the accused certainly knew it. Baleful expressions of hatred were passed around, clearly speaking things like, "_I knew we shouldn't have done it." "This is all your fault!"_

"As a good bit of you seem to be furious, you are dismissed."

The guilty party departed immediately, but Eragon was too stunned to move. "Do you wish to speak with me, Shadeslayer?" Orrin inquired after a long minute.

"How can you take such initiative?" Eragon demanded, "Did you have my liege lord's approval before you dismissed her council?"

"No. The Council of Elders was poisoning her resolve. Besides, I am the one with greater power. Do you think she would object?"

_Is this some kind of a test? _Eragon thought to himself. "Who am I to speak for Lady Nasuada? It's not my place."

"But you don't answer my question, Shadeslayer," King Orrin prompted, "do you or do you not think she would object?"

"No…" Eragon answered slowly and grudgingly.

"And do you agree that the Council was not interested in defeating Galbatorix, but in their own petty quests for power?"

"Yes… But the Elders weren't doing any harm. When Nasuada was appointed leader of the Varden, she knew what they has in mind, and she knew that they would try to steer her wrong – yet she resisted. She could have dismissed them on her own time."

"As far as I'm concerned, they were only setting us back in our ongoing battle with Galbatorix," said Orrin, snapping back to his usual, brusque manner. "That's all I have time for, Argetlam, if you'll excuse me. Expect to be summoned for another meeting at noontime tomorrow." And with that he swept out of the pavilion.

_He so afraid, _Eragon remarked to Saphira, _of Nasuada overriding his rule that it's come to this._

_Yes. He made a good point though; the Council wasn't at all interested in opposing Galbatorix. They were standing in our way and he effectively bowled them over. _

_I can't disagree with that. What do you suppose caused him to regain sanity in the middle of his tirade, though?_

Someone in the tent cleared their throat. Eragon whirled around, not having realized that he wasn't alone.

Sitting lady-like in the chair opposite his own, was a young woman with pale skin and light brown hair. Her features were not unlike the king's, though softer.

"I apologize for my brother's outrageous behavior. He is prone to losing his temper."

"Lady Borremeo?" Eragon bowed. "Was it you who –"

"Yes, I did calm his fit."

"You're a magic-user, then?"

"Yes."

"Well…. You're very… Pretty."

The lady smiled amiably. "Thank you. Perhaps we'll meet again?"

Eragon nodded numbly as she left the pavilion.

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**See? See how terrible? Stinky. That probably doesn't really encourage you to review, though XD LOL. Haha, please, please review? We're almost at a hundred! YAY! That's good, right? I know we can make this happen, people! Anyway, thanks to my steadfast reviewers like Restrained Freedom, and The Meepsa and Justmeagain. And Dragongirl Elf, your reviews made me laugh :). ****Backtracking is a little weird… I'm not really sure how to make Orrin react because no one really said "We're leaving tomorrow, don't tell anyone" so I'm assuming that it wasn't a secret…. Orrin just didn't know? Violence is not the answer. **Haha. Anyway, again, I'm shifting focus to another one of my fics, The Other Side. I'm about to update that. I don't know, writing that comes so much easier for me, and I really like doing it, so :/ But this fic will not be forgotten! And thanks to my betareader (and I'm pretty sure that is NOT a compound word xD) Writer of the North! I tried to fix it! :,( 


	25. Chapter 25

**Hello, again :). 100 reviews. Wow. Quite a feat. Awesome, thanks guys. Anyway, this chapter is from Eragon's POV, don't worry, it's gonna turn back around to Nasuada and Murtagh next chapter. That one should be out soon. I'm feeling renewed vigor for this fic XD, So, cool. Chapter 27 will be from Arya's POV, so I hope y'all are anticipating that. I plan to shake things up a bit – well, no, actually a lot. XD. I think Eragon might actually be on his way out of being a reverse pedophile! REVIEW! **

**I originally started this fic with the intent of romance. But then all this – how can I say this? – Crap happened. So now I can finally start heading the right direction! Another thing: I just realized I've been spelling Borromeo wrong… Whoops. And I've haven't put the disclaimer in for a while either, so…**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Inheritance Cycle or any of the characters, nor do I claim to. But I am prone to insulting them. A lot.**

**Lolz, forgot about Roran… guess he's been at the Varden the whole time. But I don't really care about him, because Katrina pisses me off (don't ask me why, or _you _will be pissing me off :P). And okay, I know there was probably a million different magical things Eragon could have done to get water, but I was just trying to make things more interesting. **

**Unamuni: I saw your review :). So I brought Arya back. Yay! Forgot about her… xD. I was about to put Orik back too… fail. I really need to read Brisingr again. xD. Um... Read!**

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**_Chapter 25_**

_That wasn't a very productive meeting, _Eragon observed. He was sitting outside the tent with Saphira at his side.

_In a certain respect, _Saphira agreed. _The girl was very pretty. _

Eragon scoffed. _So you would approve of me pursuing Lady Borremeo? _

_Are you asking my permission?_

_No! I don't understand. You'll frighten off a perfectly respectable user of magic, and you'll practically forbid me from becoming involved with Arya, but she's alright? _

_Trianna is not a perfectly respectable – _

_That's not the point, _Eragon argued. _What is it with you and women? Do you never want me to have a family or wife?_

_Not this argument again, _Saphira said. _I see no point in this quarrel if you are so determined not to take my advice, Eragon. _

_Neither do I, then. _

After a long moment of silence, Eragon finally asked, _Why is it that we've never seen Lady Borremeo at other Council meeting, or around the Varden's camp? _

_She's a princess. Most likely she spends her days locked inside Borromeo Castle. Did you see the way she running after she left the tent? Like she'd never seen sunlight before. _

_She is awfully pale, _Eragon agreed. _Why do you think Orrin never mentioned he had a sister before?_

_Why do never mention that you have a cousin? He probably never thought it worth mention, _Saphira replied.

_Or he was trying to prevent her from being courted, _Eragon noted. _There's not an unmarried man in Alagaësia who'd scorn her in his right mind. Say, have you seen Roran lately?_

_I saw him yesterday when I was flying back from the river, talking to the man who pounds metal, _Saphira recalled. _What an awful racket he makes. _

_Horst? _Eragon asked. He decided he should track Roran down for a chat. He hadn't given a thought to his cousin, since Murtagh's capture, much less spoken to him.

_And then, of course, _he thought to himself, _there's the unsolved problem of my half-brother. _Could he be trusted?

_I think the old Murtagh, the one you first met as steadfast and loyal, is still inside him, _Saphira said, unfurling her wings in preparation for takeoff.

_Aye. But what about Thorn? I certainly don't feel like the same Eragon I was before I found your egg in the Spine. _

_Indeed. You're much wiser, and more levelheaded. Now go find your cousin. _Saphira flapped her wings and cloud of dust rose in her wake.

_I suppose I could scry Roran, _Eragon thought. Saphira had taken his water skin with her, though, when she had taken off, so he headed for the well the people of the Varden drew their water from.

As he approached, he saw Angela leaning leisurely against the well, speaking to Arya, who had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, and an obstinate set in her shoulders. The young boys whose mothers' had sent them to fetch water were staring at her in amazement.

Every eye at the well, however, shifted to Eragon as he reached the cavity, with the exception of Angela and Arya.

"If you come again," Angela was saying, "perhaps I'll be able to tell you more about your future."

"I don't want to know anything else about my future, I want to know what you told Eragon," Arya snapped.

Eragon's ears perked up at his name. "What do you want to know about me?" he asked, hauling a bucket that a young girl had lent him, dipping his hand in, and handing it back to her.

Arya's cheeks colored slightly. "I wanted to know what Angela saw in your knucklebones at Teirm," she said.

It was Eragon's turn to blush. "I…"

"I told her to mind her manners and keep her nose out of business that wasn't her own," Angela interjected.

Eragon took a bucket from a boy and filled it for him using magic. "I'd rather not say," he admitted. "But Solembum told me to look under the Menoa Tree to find a weapon, while I was there, and now I have Brisingr."

"I know," Arya said impatiently.

"Look at the elf princess," Angela taunted. "All worked up. Well, I won't tell you anything." And with that, she fled the well.

Eragon looked at Arya. "Angela knew you were a princess?" he asked, filling another bucket.

"Doesn't everyone, now?"

"I meant before that."

Arya sighed. "She knew my father in Ellesmera, so, yes, she did know. What are you up to today, Eragon?"

Taken by surprise, Eragon floundered for a moment. "I… I wanted to talk to my cousin, Roran, but I haven't the slightest clue where he might be. I've decided to scry him." He held up the little pool of water in his palm.

Arya nodded, stoic, as Eragon uttered, _draumr kópa._

The water darkened in the fading afternoon light, as if a cloud had rolledover its surface, and then showed Roran talking to Albreit, Horst's son. It wasn't hard to guess where they were – the little children scurrying around, and the plates that sat in I front of them.

"I suppose it is about suppertime," Eragon said to Arya. "Care to join me?" he added almost hopefully.

She shook her head. "I've already eaten. I will walk with you, if you'd like."

Eragon, thinking he'd like that very much, nodded. "You've heard Nasuada left for Feinster?"

Arya nodded solemnly. "Orrin sent me a messenger, yes. I only wish she'd consulted me before she'd left."

Eragon agreed in silence. That subject had been exhausted quickly. "Did you know Orrin had a sister?"

"Nasuada has spoken about her in passing. They were childhood friends." Eragon hadn't noticed the fast pace they had taken on. They were now at the dining plain.

"I'll say goodbye to you here, Eragon," Arya said, turning and sprinting away like a panther.

Eragon watched her go, wending his way through the maze of tables.

"Eragon!" Roran hailed his cousin, grinning from a table thirty yards away.

Eragon strode over and sat beside Roran. A few of his companions openly gaped.

"What duties has the mighty Shadeslayer had to attend to?" Roran asked, punching Eragon in the shoulder lightly.

"Well, my liege lord abandoned me yesterday."

"Feeling a little lost?" Roran asked teasingly. "Is that why you finally wandered over here to see your old cousin?"

"I've been busy," Eragon mumbled guiltily. "How is Katrina?"

"Frankly, I've been avoiding her as much as possible," Roran confided. "She's taken up work as a washwoman. She makes a considerable amount of money. I am worried though; she's seriously considering leaving the Varden with our child if things don't die down soon."

"I doubt things are going to "die down". Not anytime soon at least," Eragon remarked grimly. "Anyhow, tell her she mustn't work; I'll provide for her whatever it is she requires."

"Nonsense." In his pride, Roran waved the offer away. "Whatever she can't make money for herself, my salary will cover."

"I'm not so sure Katrina would decline my offer," Eragon said. "She shouldn't be working in any case, not in her state. How's your back?"

"I'm recuperating. It doesn't hurt much, now."

"If you'd just let me do a little healing on it, you feel much better."

"No, no. Your liege lord," Roran said, stressing the work in contempt, "ordered me to let it heal naturally."

"My liege lord was following proper procedure for insubordination," Eragon said defensively.

"You're saying I committed insubordination?" Roran demanded.

"No. It doesn't matter. But Nasuada is never here, she'll never know." Before Roran could object, Eragon spoke the words in the ancient language.

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**I'm gonna try to make this short because I've been doing excessive Author's Notes. Um... Thanks to Writer of the North for trying to beta this time, I've really appreciated that a bunch. About my other fic, The Other Side: I'm lazy. Just being frank. I don't feel like writing it right now, so I don't know when the next chapter is going to be out. Thanks to all my beautiful reviewers again! And... Read Sanctuaria's fics, they rule! LOLz. Review! **

**P.S: I just want to say, there is a good reason why the chapter ended where it did... and... Eragon's stupidity is going to backfire. But then it always does, so... Ha.**

**The end! :D**

**-Seastar**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Hello. It's been a really long time since I've updated. Sorry, my laptop was being held for two weeks. So I could have had this pittifully short chapter out two weeks ago, then I wouldn't feel so bad. Anway. I didn't realize how it's been since Nasuada and Murtagh have been in the picture. I was playing catch up – this chapter is half-and-half because where I left off with Eragon, Orrin hadn't left yet, so… yeah. Fun, fun, fun! So: ****I got a weird question in a PM: Somebody wanted to know how old I am. Huh. I've been contemplating giving the answers. Now a lot of you are probably scratching your heads, thinking, _Hmmm…. I wonder how old she really _is. I'm wondering if you guys would think if was weird if I said I was, like, 5 or something. Anyway, I don't think I can answer the question until you answer it yourselves. How old are _you_? Take _that. _xD. I'm afraid you'll ridicule me for my age XXD. So, yeah, leave your age in your review, (which is mandatory if you don't want me to track you down and kill you), if you aren't too ashamed of your fat selves. Haha, just kidding.**

**Disclaimer: Awesome names, characters, stuff like that all belong to the author who created them, not me, although you might have thought they belonged to me because I've forgotten to put the disclaimers in so many chapters x).**

**I have a question for you guys: Has anyone read the book _Matched _by Allyson Condie? It's supposed to be really good if you like The Hunger Games trilogy (which I did). Leave the answer to that in a review, too, with the age one. So... read, I guess. xP :D **

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Eragon sank wearily into his chair. All eyes were on him, per usual, but he did not care as he closed his own eyes. Healing Roran had taken more energy than Eragon had thought it would, and meeting at the crack of dawn wouldn't have been his first choice. Saphira had offered to give him some of her strength, but he had refused.

Eragon couldn't imagine what Orrin wanted to have a meeting about; now that he had dismissed practically the entire Council of Elders, and more than half his cabinet, it seemed any decision he made would be better off made on his own.

Eragon felt someone shake his shoulder, and was roused from his doze. The previously empty chairs were now filled, as if by magic. It seemed like he had only closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. Lady Borromeo was seating herself in a chair to the right of her brother.

Eragon blearily scanned the faces of those present. Jörmundur, one other from the Council of Elders whose name he could not recall, five from Orrin's cabinet, whom he had never become acquainted with, Lady Borromeo, and –

_Arya? _Eragon was surprised at first. Of course, it made sense. Arya was the only elf with Varden. There was no Dwarf in attendance, though.

Eragon also took note of where each individual was placed in the circle of seats. He sat to the immediate left of the king; an empty chair that was presumably Nasuada's was to the right of Orrin; beside the empty chair sat Orrin's sister. Jörmundur was beside Eragon, and beside Jörmundur was Arya. There was neither Dwarf nor Urgal in attendance. Nasuada would never stand for that.

King Orrin cleared his throat, frowning on Eragon. "I now call this meeting to session. As you know, the few of you here have been selected to serve as my - and Lady Nasuada's - council."

Orrin began droning on and on about power as Eragon drifted in and out of a doze. It wasn't like him to sleep through a conference of any kind, even notably boring ones at sunrise, but he couldn't seem to keep his eyelids from drooping.

He sat up a little straighter when Orrin said, "But that is not the point. I've called you all here to make and announcement. I plan to follow Lady Nasuada to Feinster." Eragon traded a look with Arya. The king's hardly left any room for negotiation.

"Orrin." Lady Borromeo spoke softly. "Perhaps you'd -"

"Not now, Mayrse."

"Your majesty," Eragon said, "perhaps you'd like company? Think of how much faster it would be on Saphira's back." He knew he'd never be able to sway the king's judgment. – there was only one person in all of Alagaësia who could do that: Nasuada. He figured he be better off on his side than against it.

_I can't fly all the way to Feinster with the two of you on my back,_ Saphira protested. It's _bad enough with only you on my back. You're getting to be awfully heavy, what with all the extra weight you've been putting on lately. _

Eragon chose to ignore her.

"Thank you for the offer, Shadeslayer, but it won't be necessary," Orrin said briskly. "As Nasuada has neglected to bring her Nighthawks along with her for protection, I think it will be most convenient for them to accompany me on the journey. Thank you all for attending, you are dismissed."

Eragon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He did not understand why Orrin called Council meetings, yet sought no council. If approval was what he was searching for, it wasn't as if he needed it; once Orrin set his mind to something, there was no stopping him.

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All eyes were on the young lady, per usual, but she did not care as her own eyes roved the square. Murtagh stumbled to keep up behind Nasuada, and people were watching him more than her. Were they looking at her at all? Nasuada did not break stride as she entered the teeming masses of the city circle. The crowds seemed to part before her.

_Back to the inn, _Nasuada thought as she walked, her steps matching pace with the rage of her pulse, _and I'll devise a plan from there. Why did I ever bring Murtagh with me? _She could not answer the question honestly, not even to herself. Was there a new beginning for him here? As if he weren't a known criminal all over the empire, all over Alagaësia. No. She had brought him here because she hadn't wanted him to fall back into Galbatorix's hands, not just because of the danger he posed to the Varden, but because he really was still good, and his smile was contagious, and because he made her breath hitch whenever she saw him –

"Murtagh?" She turned, noticing the absence of the quick footfalls behind her. And there he was. Twenty yards behind her, struggling against a swarm of guards.

"In the name of the Varden, release him!" Nasuada scurried back to where she had been moments before. The guards paid no attention to the hassle she gave them. _Strange._ Experimentally, hoping to Morgathal that her hunch would be wrong, she kicked one of them in the shin with her wooden-toed sandal, hard as she possibly could. The sickening _crack _that followed told her she had broken straight through brittle bone.

_"NO!" _Nasuada screamed. Murtagh's lips moved, but no sound issued form his mouth. His lips parted in a silent cry of pain as the blade of a sword grazed his neck. "Jörmundur, Orrin! Asher!"

There was nothing she could do. Nasuada watched helplessly, tears waterfalling down her face in flowing, steady cascades. The citizens of Feinster had known enough to flee during the capture – now the streets were virtually empty, aside from the mothers pulling their children into their houses and shutting the curtains. Nasuada knelt on the ground, waiting for Thorn to come to the rescue, but no wing beats punctuated the still air. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of her dripping tears, hitting the cobblestones.

A bell jingled lightly, and the sound of frenzied chatter could be heard as a door swung open and shut. A soft shadow fell over Nasuada.

"What happened?" Orrin and Jörmundur asked. Jörmundur's tone was firm, calm, almost parental; Orrin's was panicked.

"The warriors, the ones who feel no pain, came and took Murtagh," Nasuada sobbed. "They put some sort of silencing spell on him, and they were hurting him." She tried to staunch the flow of tears, but though her voice was almost steady, they continued pouring.

"Men who feel no pain?" Jörmundur was alarmed. "Why would they be in Feinster?"

"Don't you see? They came for him," Nasuada half-whispered. "They came for him. The only place he was safe was the Varden and I removed him from there."

Orrin laid a hand on Nasuada's shoulder and knelt beside her. A bell tolled in the distance.

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**Okay, I didn't know if Eragon should have been sitting to the left or right of Orrin, because Nasuada is like the 'right hand man,' so to speak. So, just in case left means, like the king thinks you're a maggot, I apologize in advance. ****Just a note, the Maryse is pronounced like MARE-iss, not MAY-riss. Duh. Haha, I've been reading Mortal Instruments. And I just realized something: ****the Eragon/Roran fail will have to wait until later. This chapter sort of took a totally different dynamic than I originally intended. But it truly is an epic fail. Um, _review_, subscribe, all that good stuff. I really have no idea when the next chapter will be done, but I'll be on it. **

**Writer of the North, if you're reading this, sorry (again)! :( I still do want you to beta for me :) I'm just really anxious to get the chapter out. **

**Peace. ~Seastar**


	27. Chapter 27

**I'm really sorry, guys. You know, when I first started writing this, I totally intended for Murtagh and Nasuada to end up together. But Orrin has just, like, taken in unprecedented leap into first place, here. So, we'll just have to see what happens. As you all must know, or be sensing (probably not xD), this fic is coming to a close :'(( I really am going to miss it, it's like a child to me now. I guess it's going to end in November. Tell you what. The last update, I will save for November 8th. Deal? I PROMISE, I will start another Inheritance story after this one. I can't part with it, I really can't. I'm really happy with how well this fic is going and has gone. Sorry, this is turning into a pre-farewell message :). I'm jumping the gun a little. I need to draw this to a close, so I'll probably be switching POVs a lot. I haven't done Orrin's POV since chapter 8 J and I like him again, so here are his thoughts. Okay, I don't even _know _why this story is called Flattery anymore. I mean, not literally, but, it just don't make sense no more. Oh well. The next chapter will probably be a little from Orrin's and mostly from Thorn's POV. This was kind of a dumb filler chapter. Hee hee :)**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Inheritance or anything I used from other authors. [Insert witty comment here]. I'm not really feeling humorous today. Sorry. Now, READ. **

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Orrin led Nasuada into the inn by the arm. _Murtagh._ Wouldn't Alagaësia would be much better off if he hadn't been born in the first place. _Son of Morzan. Son of Selena. _Of course they had to have a son – why not carry on the legacy of terror? Like father, like son. Bred to be evil.

Perhaps Orrin should start to be more like his own father. His just, righteous father, Larkin. Orrin was a born leader, like his father, and his father before him, but he doubted himself, at times. His sister, perhaps, could be a better leader than he could. Perhaps that was the problem, he doubted himself. He let his anger get in the way of his people, ruling his kingdom. Larkin never doubted himself.

_What makes a good king? _Orrin thought to himself as he pushed through the crowded inn, taking no questions, lost in his own world. A good king respected himself, first and foremost… Larkin had always said the queen made the king. He glanced over at Nasuada, still drying her tears. She was not unlike his own mother, he supposed: Strong-willed, wise, beautiful. Unfortunately, he hadn't inherited much of her looks.

Jörmundur slammed the door of a sitting room he has procured earlier, avoiding, as much as possible, slamming people's arms and fingers in the process.

Nasuada was still sobbing, her eyes wild with guilt. "It's my fault, all my fault." She buried her face in her hands.

"It is no one's fault," Jörmundur said firmly.

"Yes," Nasuada snapped, "it is. Can you not see? Galbatorix must have know, must have known we were in Feinster with Murtagh. He sent the warriors to come and get him."

"Why hasn't he already done this, while Murtagh was imprisoned in the Varden?"

"He never could have, of course! What about Eragon, and Arya, and Angela, and the citizens who've already fought the men who feel no pain? He had no power, no leeway; his greatest weapon was Murtagh, and Murtagh was who he was trying to retrieve, And he succeeded – because of me." Nasuada sniffed multiple times, trying again to subdue her flood of tears.

"But what of Murtagh's powers over magic? He's a rider, for heaven's sake!" Jörmundur exclaimed. "Even with sheer willpower on his side, he should have been able to overtake the men."

Nasuada shrugged listlessly. "How can we say what happened? I haven't a clue. Some kind of spell was biding his powers – he couldn't speak, or even cry out… they were hurting him…" she choked on the memory.

Jörmundur sighed. "Either way, he is still a dragon rider, and a _very _powerful one, at that. Would you be so worried about Eragon?"

Orrin broke his silence. "Of course not," he interrupted. "She doesn't feel the same way about Eragon." _What would Larkin do? _He asked himself, but he could not staunch the torrent of words. "She's been entranced by Murtagh, ever since she met him." Memories fueled the fire in his words and his heart.

_"There was a young man by the name of Murtagh being imprisoned, by order of the Twins," she had told him. "He appeared completely innocent. He was handsome," her tone grew dreamy, "he had dark eyes, and hair, pale as the moon…" she shook her head, clearing it. "Remind you of anyone?" _

_Orrin shook his head without really examining its contents, Something had flashed in her eyes, something he could not decipher. _

He could now.

_"He told me of his adventures with Eragon – they seemed noble enough. His heart was in the right place. But they questioned him, and found that –"_

"Always determined to find the best in people. That will be your downfall, my lady. There is not a kind, non-conniving bone in Murtagh's body. He looks noble enough, handsome, even – but upon further examination, the person he truly is unveiled."

"And how can anything different be said of you?"

Orrin bristled. She was comparing _him _to Murtagh? The son of Morzan? But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed to apply to him. Where had his nobility, his integrity gone? Had he thrown it away in his jealousy of Murtagh? Or had it ever really been there at all? Nasuada's words hung in the air like a lead weight as she flung open the door, and disappeared down the hall, the Nighthawks in her wake.

Jörmundur sat up straighter, as if considering how quickly he could catch up if he were to go after her. Then his eyes landed on Orrin.

They were steely, but not unkind. "I do recall your days as a child, Orrin Borromeo. How quickly one can change. I thought I saw in you what I see in Nasuada now, what I could not imagine in her then. Have the qualities of a leader left you?"

"That's just what my father would say." Orrin blinked several times. Nasuada has stirred dust up in the air, slamming the door the way she did.

"You've inherited your pride from him," Jörmundur observed, "and your inability to mask your emotions."

"I beg to differ."

"Your jealousy has not gone unnoticed. You want Nasuada to yourself. She would make a fine queen, I daresay."

_I don't know what I want, _Orrin thought. "Anyone is better than that scallywag (This word does npt seem to fit... at all. Maybe use 'devil' instead, it seems better to me.) Murtagh."

"That's what your father said when he married your mother. 'Anything to keep her away from that peasant, Jörmundur.' You see, your mother was a very, very wise and talented woman – well she is, I should say. But she was torn between the choice of two men, both vying for her affections. She was completely bewitched with one - a poorer man, but his intellect was promising. The other was, of course, was your father, a king.

"Larkin was determined to keep you mother from that peasant, so he promised her jewels, and a bright future, and a family. Something the poor man couldn't guarantee without a doubt. It was easy to see from my vantage point that he didn't really love her – not the way he should have.

"But your mother, Amelia, was convinced. So they married, and your sister was born, then you."

"And the point of you story?" Orrin asked impatiently; it wasn't as if Jörmundur was telling anything he didn't already know.

"This will come as a shock to you, but your sister, Mayrse, is not you sister."

Orrin sat rigid, his mouth agape. "What – I –" he sputtered.

"Not fully," Jörmundur finished. "Your father became infatuated with a lady of his court _– Mayrse_, if I do remember correctly. But I have reason to suspect that she was not exactly who she said she was."

"Why… why wouldn't my father tell me this? And why would my mother let my sister live as her daughter?" Orrin's heart rate sped. _Lies, _he thought, _I've grown up in a lie. _"Does Mayrse know of her parentage?" he asked shakily.

Jörmundur shook his head. "Sadly, no. To answer you questions, you father told no one. Your mother believed that she and her husband were simply adopting an orphaned child. She had no idea why your father decided on the name Mayrse, but she settled for it."

"You said that she was under an assumed name." He was almost afraid to ask. "Who…?"

"I am under the assumption that your sister's mother is Selena."

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**That's it. I'm sure you can see the implication this development brings. Thanks to Writer of the North for betaing. And I still don't think that's a word. Haha. Okay, like, read &, like, review, okay? Cool. Totally review. Lol, I just really wanted to use an ampersand. **

**Chao bella (I don't know what that means :))**

**-Seastar97**


	28. Chapter 28

**Okay, I am AT LONG LAST AND FINALLY updating. ****DANG this story is so complicated! I keep forgetting about certain things, which is seriously pitiful, because I friggin' wrote it. OMG. Anyway, I was about to forget about the last egg, but I didn't. Ha.**

**Off topic: I'm watching Curious George. It's hilariously distracting, because he thinks he's winning at miniature golf when he gets a score of 257. Hahahahahaha XXDD. It's really funny. I can't believe it's a show for four year-olds. Don't ask me why I'm watching it. Yeah. So:**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Inheritance. I'm too lazy to say anything else, so don't sue me. **

**ANYway, READ! And review!**

* * *

Eragon leaned against Saphira, kneading his forehead. King Orrin had left for Feinster two days ago. Knowing him, he had probably already arrived in the city. Eragon was beginning to think that the king's obsession with Nasuada was unhealthy. He also couldn't believe that Lady Borromeo was related to him. She was so kind and rational, and her brother was the exact opposite.

_Perhaps _your _obsession __with __Lady __Borromeo __is __unhealthy, _Saphira commented.

_I __am __not __obsessed! _Eragon snapped. _She__'__s __a __lot __like __me, __that__'__s __all._

It was true. Eragon and Mayrse seemed to have more than a little bit in common. They both used magic, and were very skilled in it. They shared the same hobbies and interests. And Eragon even thought that, if you tilted your head the right way, they looked quite alike.

_There __she __is __now, __the __charmer __herself._

_Blast you._

"Lady Borromeo!" Eragon barreled out onto the path in her wake, kicking up piles of dust with his accelerated footfalls.

Orrin's sister whirled around, then smiled. "Please," she said, "call me Mayrse." The sunset behind her illuminated her face. She reminded Eragon of someone, vaguely, as if a figure from a dream.

"Mayrse," Eragon agreed. "I'd like to know which spell you used to calm Orrin. I have a feeling it may come in handy at a later time."

Mayrse nodded thoughtfully. "I actually created it myself. My father challenged me to compose a spell for this purpose. Only, not in particular for my brother." She sat down in the grass beside the path in between two tents, spreading her skirts. She didn't seem to mind soiling her garments.

Mayrse continued. "We didn't have many spell books in the palace at the time, and I exhausted my resources quickly. At first I tried incorporating the subject's name. _Calm __Eragon __Shadeslayer. _That worked just fine – if the subject's name was accessible. If I were to say, _Calm __Eragon __Shadeslayer, _yet direct the spell at Saphira, some kind of misfire would inevitably occur.

"I came to my father with this dilemma, he gave me some very poor advice: Think around the problem. So I sat in my room, brooding and ruminating over the problem. Then I realized how limited my thinking was. Focusing on one subject was like insisting the entire population was male or female, fat or skinny, blind or seeing. Whether or not a person fits under any of those categories, there is one general term that categorizes them all. Human.

"So I threw every other thought I had away, and chose a spell that had already been created. One that works in nature. Anger really is only an animal instinct. And when I spoke _Calm __the __storm_ in the ancient language, a feeling of calm overcame me."

Eragon was surprised by Lady Borromeo's high level of thinking. "Scholars use the idea in the formulation of many spells. I'm impressed. Does the spell only work on humans, though?"

"Oh, no. That is the reason why it has proven so useful. The simplicity of it is what makes it to complex. The spell eliminates anger from whatever emanates it."

"Is there an enchantment that I could use to defeat Galbatorix with a single word?" Eragon joked.

"If only it were that simple. Galbatorix is not part of the general population. He is one all his own," Mayrse replied.

"Perhaps it's time to return to rudimentary level thinking."

"Perhaps you are correct, Shadeslayer."

* * *

Eragon jumped as the scrying mirror in Nasuada's pavilion lit up, showing the face of Lady Nasuada. _Caught red-handed._

"Eragon!" she exclaimed. "Thank goodness. I've been trying to reach somebody for hours now. I sent a messenger, but since there really is nothing else I can do, I figured I'd try this."

"My lady? You're speaking awfully fast," Eragon observed. "Is there a problem?"

"Yes. An emergency. Murtagh's been kidnapped by the soldier who can't feel pain. And we can't seem to locate Thorn."

"Murtagh's been kidnapped? And I suppose his ability to use magic just escaped him?"

"I saw it with my own eyes, Eragon!" Nasuada exclaimed indignantly. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. "Something seized control of him, like an invisible force. He couldn't even scream..." Nasuada's eyes swam with tears.

"Where do you think they took him?"

"To Urû'baen, of course! Where else? We need you in Feinster, as soon a humanly possible!"

"I'll be there as quick as I possibly can."

* * *

Thorn was growing irritated. Ever since Murtagh had killed the two-legged Meriam, he'd been a sitting duck, his pond being the outskirts of Feinster, on the same rock outcropping he'd found before.

It didn't make much sense to Thorn - why would Murtagh, or any other human for that matter, kill a person like Meriam? A life for a life? It didn't make the Red-faced, Orange-haired Zoë girl come back alive, and out of the void. Revenge might be sweet, but not for long. It turned sour once in the stomach. If dragons killed every one of their kind who ever did wrong, who ever harmed something or some one of value to another dragon, dragons would be extinct. Gone. And the same with humans.

That was what Thorn had tried to tell Murtagh before he executed Meriam, but for what? He should have known that Murtagh wouldn't listen, would shut him out for all it was worth.

Thorn blew a puff of smoke. It was difficult, being on the sidelines for so long, instead of the marching up in the front line of battle alongside Murtagh. His rider seemed to be slipping away from him.

_If __I __had __a __rider,__I __would __never__-_

_Did __I __ask __for __your __opinion?_ Thorn snapped.

The little dragon mentally chucked.

_Thorn._ It was Murtagh.

_Murtagh?_

_I __need __you __to__-_ pain shot through Thorn's veins. It wasn't his own, though.

_Little Misery?_

A calm voice filled Thorn's head, and paralyzing fear overcame him.

_Your __master's __time __has __come, _Galbatorix's voice told Thorn_. __I __have __no __use __for __him __if __he __insists __on __creating __petty __problems. __He __will __die __slowly __and __painfully, __one __piece __at __a __time __being __dragged __into __the __void, __as __he is __dragged __to __Urû__'__baen __so __that __I __can __snuff __out __the __final __scrap __of __life __that __remains __when __he __arrives. __And __you __shall __be snuffed out right beside him. _Thorn felt any overwhelming sense of guilt and grief fill a newly emptied space. Part of Murtagh. The part that let him communicate with his rider was gone. Missing like a piece of a puzzle. He could still see what Murtagh saw, smell the smells and feel the sensations. That would suffice.

Thorn tried to spread his wings. But it was as if they were pinned to the ground. He tried to move his limbs. They felt as if they were encrusted in stone. He even tried to open his mouth. Nothing. He felt nothing but the energy of the effort sapping at his strength. One could only survive like this for so long.

_If I had a rider -_

_Quiet before I eat you._

* * *

**That was a lot shorter than I intended, but when I woke up this morning, I was like, "I'm gonna update Flattery!" and I did. So I'm proud of myself. It only took two hours. Anyway, you can definitely review, and have a great Turkey Day! **

**REVIEW! And I was thinking about putting that in the middle of the chapter, but I figured it would piss you guys off. **

**Chao,**

**-Seastar**


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Merry Christmas Eve, everybody! I haven't updated in like a month, but that's okay. Hopefully. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter. I kind of fail at being funny :( Oh well. **

* * *

Eragon leaned on Roran and Katrina's diner table, scanning the crowd. It had been about half an hour since Nasuada had ordered him to Feinster. He had a proposition for Mayrse. His plate had been emptied multiple times during the wait.

"What I don't understand," Roran said, taking a bite of the tough venison they had been served tonight, and continuing with his mouth full, "is why Nasuada even took off with Murtagh in the first place."

Eragon had a fleeting idea, but only said, "She didn't explain that to me. She said only that he was kidnapped."

"I don't see why that's any of your concern," Roran mumbled.

"Murtagh is his brother, dear," Katrina said, laying a hand on her husband's arm. "Imagine Eragon was kidnapped; wouldn't you try and rescue him?"

Roran scoffed. "I, for one, didn't murder the dwarf king, I haven't attempted to slay my own brother, nor am I magical." He waved his fork for emphasis, and Katrina raised a hand to prevent her eyes from being skewered. "And yes, I would try and rescue him, if he didn't manage to do it himself."

"I am by no stretch loyal to Murtagh," Eragon assured the two of them, "but Katrina is right. It would be wrong to simply sit idle while one of my own – that is a fellow rider – is being dragged back to enslavement in the Empire. He could be back with Galbatorix as we speak, in which case, we would be back where we started." _Though things would probably be a lot worse for Murtagh. _

"If he is back with his master, then why bother going to Feinster? Stay here and defend us!" Roran said.

Eragon smiled. "I must take orders from my liege lord, Roran."

"We both know Roran himself very good at following orders," Katrina said, glancing at Eragon. She smiled a smile that did not reach her eyes. He could tell that she was struggling to forgive Nasuada for the unforgivable – injuring someone she loved. Healing Roran sprang to the forefront of his mind. He hoped there would not be consequences.

Eragon chuckled a little. "I think you and Murtagh have something in common Roran."

"We both abandoned orders for the good of others. At least I did. Murtagh probably did it to save his own skin," Roran retorted.

"Murtagh was defending the people of the Varden," Eragon argued. "He is not completely soulless. He obviously took a massive risk for them. Now he's being taken back to Galbatorix."

"Hope that he dies on the way to Urû'baen."

Eragon was about to snap back again, when he caught sight of Mayrse in the crowd. Forgetting Roran and Katrina for the moment, he ran up to her, without restricting his speed, so that they almost collided.

"Mayrse!" he said, at the same moment she exclaimed, "Eragon!"

"I wanted –"

"Is there –" Eragon flushed. How stupid he must have looked to her.

Roran laughed from the table at few yards away, and said something to Katrina, who smiled endearingly. Eragon wrinkled his nose at them and led Mayrse away, toward an empty table.

"Oh, I've already eaten," Mayrse said, seating herself anyway, a pleasant smile upon her lips.

"So did I," Eragon said, smiling back for no reason in particular. "I wanted to ask something of you."

Mayrse folded her hands in her lap. Eragon perched self-consciously on the edge table. He attracted more than the usual attention. Feminine voices and chattering cut through the crowd and assailed his ears

"I've been ordered to Feinster by Nasuada. As you know, you're brother has followed her to the city as well. Murtagh's been kidnapped, and it is a lot to ask of a lady, but – would you accompany Saphira and me to Feinster?" The words came out like an unstoppable wall of water from the newly opened floodgates of his mouth once he released them. "Your skills could be of greater aid to the Varden there than they are here."

Mayrse cocked her head, considering. "I am willing to aid you, Eragon. You seem wise beyond your years. When must we leave?"

"Later tonight."

"Very well. Shall I meet you by your tent at midnight?"

"That will be too late. Three hours from now would suffice. Saphira and I will be ready. I must advise you to pack lightly, and not to eat anything more, though. Flying on dragon back for the first time gives some most the worst of nausea."

Lady Borromeo's face broke into a smile, as if he were teasing. He sincerely hoped that she took his words seriously. "Very well, Shadeslayer. I must go." She bade him goodnight, promising to be at his tent by the allotted time. Eragon noticed that it had become strangely quiet.

As Mayrse walked away, the noise began again, and Eragon loosed a pent up grin. He had been sure that asking Mayrse to accompany him was rash and foolish. He wasn't exactly sure what had possessed him to do it, either, but her being by his side made him feel more secure. Like having Arya guarding his back during a battle, while he guarded hers, except Mayrse was more fragile, unlike the seasoned warrior Arya was.

He wended his way back toward his campgrounds. He stopped back at his cousin's table for a moment, as it was on the way.

"You seem in an unusually good mood," Roran noted, grinning at his cousin. "Did you manage to get the girl?"

"What?" Eragon asked, confused. The outside air suddenly felt unnaturally hot.

"Don't play dumb, Eragon."

"Did she say yes?" Katrina asked excitedly. "Why didn't you tell us?"

It dawned on Eragon what Roran and Katrina had surmised was happening. "I did _not_ ask her to marry me." His face was now bright crimson, much resembling Nasuada's meeting pavilion. "I felt I needed another magician to bolster my power and strength, and she's quite skilled, so I –"

"You told me he asking to marry her!" Katrina said to Roran, ignoring Eragon.

"I thought he was! I heard someone at that table over there say it, and everyone was riveted!"

"He's your cousin; I supposed I ought to believe you."

Eragon shook his head. There was no room in his life for lover's quarrels, or even lovers. He bade Roran and Katrina an unheard goodnight and continued to his tent.

When he arrived, Saphira was chewing on a particularly stinky carcass.

_I didn't see you at supper. Why are you eating out here? _Eragon asked, catching a strong whiff of the noxious odor.

_This was so smelly that the cooks sent me away from where people were enjoying their meals._

_And you decided to go where they sleep instead? This stench probably won't clear out for days. _

_Sorry. It's so hard to please you two-legs. It doesn't matter much, really; we're leaving in a few hours, aren't we?_

_Still, people wish to have a good night's sleep. I suppose there's nothing we can do about it now, though. Is this all you've eaten? You'll have time for a small hunting expedition._

_And you decided to go where they sleep instead? This stench probably won't clear out for days.__  
__Sorry. It's so hard to please you two-legs. It won't matter much, really. We're leaving in a few hours, aren't we?__  
__Still, there are people who wish to have a good night's sleep. _Eragon shook his head._ There's nothing that can be done about it now, I suppose. Is this all you've eaten? You'll have time for a small hunting expedition before we have to go._

_It won't take more than a day and a half to fly to Feinster, Saphira predicted. I think I will have another deer or two, just in case we run into some unforeseen problem._

_In the even of some unforeseen problem, I don't think you would want to be too full, _Eragon joked. _You need room in your stomach for the enemy._

_True as that may be, I don't enjoy eating you two-legs, as I've said before. Too tough. Like eating day-sheep. Would you care to join me in finding a few does?__  
__I think I may_, Eragon replied, climbing onto Saphira's back. He had removed her saddle for her comfort, and now hadn't the time to replace it. He winced and inwardly shuddered at the thought of his very first time riding Saphira, before he knew of dragons, and riders, and saddles. His legs had been bloodied to a pulp - and very painful one at that.

With this in mind, Eragon cast a protective spell over the better part of his lower body, which prevented Saphira's scales from cutting his legs, but did not ward off the uncomfortable angle at which they were stretched.  
_Oh, well, _he thought._ You can't have everything.__  
__It feels nice to fly without dreaded saddle for once, Saphira said. I've forgotten what it feels like.__  
__It's much easier with it on_, Eragon said,_ but I might let you go without it more often. I would hate to have a yoke on my neck, having to carry around two pails whenever I walked.__  
__It's not quite that bad. But what about the spell you used - to protect your legs, _Saphira began._  
__What about it? _Eragon asked._  
__I was listening to you and Lady Borromeo converse earlier, and I was considering... What if you were to construct an armor made entirely out of magic? It would not interfere with your mobility the way regular armor does.__  
_Eragon smiled to himself._ Good thinking. I'm sure the first scholars of magic pondered the same thing, although I'm not convinced it would be particularly practical. I can feel this spell sapping at my strength right now, even though I really should be saving it. It's not really stopping my skin from being punctured by your scales; it's simply healing the wounds before they can come about. _

Saphira grunted. _This might be the first time you've actually taught _me _something, Little One. _

_I'm glad, _Eragon answered. _I am older than you; it's natural that I should be the smarter one. _

_I wouldn't go that far, Eragon. _

The shadeslayer laughed.

Saphira glided onto a glade just opposite the Jiet River. She'd hunted here many times, Eragon could tell, for the animals did not scurry away at her heavy landing.

Almost immediately, Saphira spotted a deer, and pounced.

_Deer are so easy, _she said, _I bet even you could catch one, Eragon. _

_No more insults to my intelligence, please. _

_Would you like some? _With the tip of one claw, Saphira brandished a slab of bloody meat at Eragon.

_No, thank you. And close your mouth. I'm not trying to sneak a peek at your digestive tract. _

As soon as Saphira finished her second meal, and cleaned herself in the mucky waters of the river, Eragon renewed the spell and climbed onto her back once more.

The sun had long sunken behind the trees. _I wonder what time it is, _Eragon thought, his meeting time with Mayrse now unclear in his memories. _I hope we're not late._

_There is Lady Borromeo now,_ Saphira told him. A petite silhouette was hurrying across the lawn to Eragon's tent. She reached Saphira's landing spot just as the dragon began to hover over the point.

_Well don't crush her, _Eragon said.

_She will have to move. The alternative is crushing someone else. _

Eragon was about to say that he'd rather that than have Mayrse be a flat pile of flesh and bones, when the lady ducked into the tent.

Saphira landed a moment later, and Eragon dismounted, a bit shaky on his feet. As he rubbed the circulation back into his stiff legs, Mayrse emerged from the tent.

"Shadeslayer," she said, bowing. "Pardon me; I assumed you were resting inside your tent."

"That's alright. Bowing to me, however, is not. Are we not equals?"

"I wouldn't say that."

"Nonsense," Eragon protested. "We are both fellow magicians."

"As you wish, Shadeslayer," Mayrse said. Again, he features were familiar to him; he could see King Larkin's angled cheekbones, short nose, and alabaster-pale skin – both of his children had inherited those traits. But there was something in her build, the way her lips curled into a smile the exact same way his own did, and the way her hair curled around her shoulders that reminded him of someone else.

"Is my trunk light enough a load for Saphira?" Mayrse pointed to a small trunk at her feet.

Eragon snapped out of his reverie. "Yes, he said, "it is."

* * *

**There you have it. Maybe you'll stick around and see what happens next? In the christmas spirit, I'd like to thank everyone for your wonderful reviews. I can't believe people think I'm a good writer o.O **

**Of course, I encourage you to review again. I'll try to update a little bit more. I hate to admit it, but I just finished _Inheritance _for real. I just looked spoilers up on the internet and used Amazon to find the good parts (am I the only one who clicks on the "Look inside this book" thingy and searches for stuff?). You guys probably have no idea what I'm talking about. Oh well, you're only reivewing for the chapter, not the insane author's notes. **

**Lastly, I just want to thank Writer of the North. You will be missed. :'(**

**Thank you guys, and happy holidays!**

**-seastar97**


	30. AN

**Happy anniversary! Yay! I started Flattery one year ago exactly! This day will go down in the history of good days. So 131 reviews later, I'm still going strong.**

**Thank you to Restrained Freedom for reviewing every single chapter for a whole year . Even though they're not good . Anyway, that's so awesome. I'm also super thankful for everyone who reviewed more than once. You guys are badass. Thanks again to Writer of the North, for being awesome in general.**

**Um, I don't really have that much more to say. I'll probably update soon. I won't do Eragon and Mayrse's trip to Feinster, because that's gonna be boring. I'll go back to Nasuada's or maybe Murtagh or better yet Thorn. We need some green egg action, I think. I might do Roran or someone random, like Arya, who hasn't really been in this for a while, too.**

**This probably sounds really weird, but I need an excuse for not updating. I started the most amazing book series over thanksgiving break and I've literally been _consumed_ by it since then. I've been thinking about it for like, a month. The Infernal Devices. OH MY GOSH (x10). Anyway, I was wondering if anyone else read them, and perhaps shares my creepy passion for Tess and Jem. Yeah. I have no life.**

**Thank you guys for a whole year of Flattery!**

**-seastar**


	31. Another Author's Note  Please read

**A/N: Hey, y'all. So. It's around 9 on Super Bowl Sunday, and guess what I'm doing? Sitting in front of my computer, writing this author's note for my readers (if they still exist), with only Facebook to inform me whether the Patriots or the Giants are winning. My cable got disconnected earlier this week and the company is taking FOREVER to come and fix it. Needless to say, I don't have any friends' houses to go to. Well... I didn't want to watch the Super Bowl anyway. **

**Anywho. I just wanted to let you guys know that I haven't given up on Flattery. Sorry to everyone who was expecting an actual update :3 Yeah. I'm actually pretty proud of myself with the outcome of this fic. Over a hundred reviews is awesome. A hundred and fifty, and I can rest in peace. I'm reading Inheritance STILL, and it's giving me some ideas, so yeah. I realized somethings about my writing too. I don't know, but I can't ever focus on the action parts of the story; I just get really wrapped up in what the characters feel and their thoughts about what is going on around them. This is really boring. **

**Moving on. I started a fic (yay me). It's about Charlotte Branwell (technically Fairchild). I'm really excited about writing it. It's just a diary from the time she's thirteen up until ten years later at the end of Clockwork Prince. If you've never read the Infernal Devices by Cassandra Clare, you won't know what I'm talking about. But I LOVE that series, so natarally, I had to write a story about it. If you're interested, check that out. I think it's going to be pretty cool. I was thinking about starting a new Percy Jackson fic... I have a plot line and stuff, but I can't figure out how to get the ball rolling. When I have time, I guess. *sigh***

**Lastly, I am working on updates for Reyna's Rise and The Other Side. It's begining to become tedious, working on those, but if you guys like them, I'm willing to continue. **

**That's all :) Ta ta**

**-seastar**


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